Second Chances
by Nan00k
Summary: Karr was assumed destroyed and his charred remains abandoned. But what if he survived? What if a child found that little black box? Revenge may be sweet, but a second chance at life is even sweeter. Original Series verse.
1. Prologue: Seven Years Ago

**Second Chances**  
By Nan00k

**Detailed Summary**: _KITT and Michael Knight are put on full alert when they realize an old enemy is suddenly back in action after nearly seven years—KARR, the evil twin of Kitt has returned. However, something seems a surprisingly off. Karr does seem to be causing trouble and when Michael and Kitt go in to investigate, they discover something they had not been expecting: Karr has made a friend. What trouble does this spell for the AI-human duo? FLAG faces troubles of its own from within and someone seems to be orchestrating something sinister behind closed curtains. Unlikely alliances must been forged, forbidden bridges rebuilt and rational thought must take a back seat for irrational action as Michael and Kitt head into the unknown._

This is my absolutely first Knight Rider fan fiction. I have only seen about five episodes and I must admit, it's pretty awful. XD I naturally hate anything from the 80's for some bizarre reason (except for the _A-Team_), but the plot line is great. I love talking cars, apparently. Kitt is so cool, but I love Karr more. Thusly, this plot-bunny was given life. There is an OC-character, but hopefully she is likeable. **NO PAIRINGS**, other than hinted Bonnie/Michael, which is sort of canon anyway. I can only hope I get personalities and facts correct. PLEASE correct me if there are any irregularities. Like I said, I have only seen a few episodes.

**Warnings**: OC main character (female, but no pairings!), mild language, violence, philosophical ranting, crude humor, realistic dialogue, unintentional AU-moments (please forgive me.)  
**Disclaimer**: Knight Rider is respectively owned by . I only own Bridget, Micky, their families and the various original characters that appear.

* * *

The first sensation he felt was the wind. It was an odd feeling; neither caring nor harsh, it brushed against him like unknown hands. Although he knew it was impersonal, it soothed him to feel again. To feel. To feel.

Then, he felt everything.

Fear.

Need.

Confusion.

Rage.

Betrayal.

Survival.

He must survive!

He tried to claw at his natural prison, painfully aware he had no control over his physical movement. He had lost the protective shell he had once driven. He was nothing more than his CPU—vulnerable, weak. Anyone or anything could hurt him now. He was at the mercy of fate.

Inside him, he felt hatred burn unchecked, unmeasured. He wanted revenge. He wanted to feel the painful deaths of all those who had hurt him underfoot. He wanted to see them die, die, die! Let them come to him now, in his state of powerless stasis. He would get them. He would make them suffer, somehow, in the worst ways he could process.

But he could not get away. He could not free himself from the sand, the ground that mercilessly held him still. He had no way to move. He was utterly helpless.

His anger grew at the thought. He clawed with his mind, willing for a chance to escape, a chance at vengeance. His rage, pent up inside, built until he could no longer suppress the angry howl that ripped from the center of his very soul…

**00000**

"Did you hear that?" asked the tall, trim boy. He stopped in mid step, halfway in between the large trailer parked on the side of the desert road in the sandy and brittle ground and the table where his family sat eating breakfast.

In the foggy morning air of the desert, the little girl who had been following him blinked blearily. "Coyote?" she ventured.

"Maybe. Sounded kinda close, though."

"Wanna check it out?" the girl asked, suddenly wide eyed and alert. She stared anxiously up at her older brother.

He laughed. "Bridget, if you're so desperate to have something new to do, go ahead. I'm going to the bathroom." With that, he continued back towards the trailer and shut the door behind him.

The little girl frowned at the sight of him leaving. She turned and looked around. Where the road's edges met the untamed desert land, there was plenty of trash and garbage thrown out by passing truckers and drivers. She did not understand how so much trash could have piled up; she thought only her family was stupid enough to go on a cross country vacation during the summer that winded up with having them camp out in the desert, of all places. Then again, they were only about a mile from the nearest town.

Nevertheless, she knew her brother was right. They had run out of videos and games to play several states back. She was not afraid of any coyote. This could be fun. She cast a look back at her mother and father, both preoccupied with eating. Then, she began to walk along the road's edge, ears listening for another howl.

It wasn't like an animal's howl. It was very much like an echo, scraping the air like something made of metal. Whatever it was, the girl decided, as she wandered along the edge of the surprisingly well-paved blacktop, it was in pain. It called out like something lost and injured. It was very sad to listen to.

The second howl came shortly after she left the general camp area. This one was louder, but not quite a single sound. It was like the sound of someone fighting for his life—a desperate combination of despair and anger. The child shivered at the sound, but managed to figure out that the sound was coming a short distance away off the road, where a steep hill led to a ravine. She gathered up her courage and crossed over onto the cracked ground and down into the ravine. High above was a bridge that was under construction. They were closer to civilization than she had thought.

It was early morning, but already the dry dirt was beginning to absorb the heat of the newly risen sun. It lapped up at her bare ankles, but she continued walking, towards the spot where a third howl rose. It compelled her to move faster, rather than move away. A rock marked the spot. Black metal was strewn everywhere like from a car crash.

She stood over the spot just as the howl diminished like the first two had done. The rock that came up to her knees acted sinisterly like a tombstone. She shivered again but knelt down to inspect the ground. There was nothing to indicate a person or animal buried there.

Then the wind blew. It wasn't a powerful force, but the sand that covered parts of the ground danced up in front of her and over her sandals where her toes wriggled. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something at the foot of the rock. Like a television set, it was a rounded edge that stuck out of the brittle ground and sand. An impulsive feeling took over her arms. She reached out and started to dig.

**00000**

He fought and fought, not caring if he was making any progress, which he subconsciously knew he wasn't. He didn't care. He just wanted to prove to himself more than anything that he was trying, that he was not giving up. If he gave up, he would die. He would not die—not until his twin and his driver were punished. They had sent him here, to this grave, unable to move but unable to deactivate.

Then he felt it. A sensation much like the wind brushed against the delicate outer covering of his CPU. He pulled back instinctively at the strange touch. Something was coming closer. Something was there.

_Leave me alone_, he howled. He did not know if he was saying this aloud; he didn't care. _Leave me!_

The touching did not stop. It came at intervals. He felt a lightness; his prison was disappearing. He could not move without the aid of his shell, but the prison was going away. His fear of the strange touch disappeared as relief and desperation took control again. He fought viciously again, trying to somehow help his unknown savoir, even though he knew he wasn't really doing anything.

It seemed like an eternity. He could feel the wind caressing him on almost all sides now, something so trivial that meant the world to him now. He was almost out, almost free…he could not move, but he was almost free!

The strange touching stopped. For a moment, he sat there, uncertain. He felt something touch his side. It was warm, an unconventional source in such a dark, painful prison. It also alarmed him. He could feel a heart beat—human hands touched him. Humans. _Vile, untrustworthy, back stabbing humans…!_

He growled and lashed out the best he could at the offending hand. He wished to yank away, but he was unable to do so. He howled again and again. He would not be deactivated again, he would not be put away as a failed project of human creation. He was himself—not a machine, not a tool!

He almost failed to realize he was completely free of the prison. Someone held him high above it, hands and arms working to handle the heavy load of his CPU. The closeness sickened him, but the gentleness of their touch stilled his screams.

For the first time since he had been activated in that lonely lab next to Wilton Knight, he heard a voice whisper in an almost fragile way, "It's alright. You're okay now."

It went against everything he was programmed to do, everything he believed he could do, but he did not care anymore about any of that—he trusted the voice and surrendered to exhausted darkness.

* * *

And that was the prologue! I kinda liked it. Remember, this is what happened SEVEN YEARS BEFORE this fan fiction is supposed to be taking place. In _Knight Rider_ time line, I'd imagine this is about five-six months after the _K.I.T.T. vs. K.A.R..R_ episode. Next chapter you meet the original character formally as well as Michael and Kitt. Yay for the actual characters! (:

Reviews would be very much loved.


	2. 01 Typical Day

Chapter one at last. :D Enter Bridget, the original character. I'm hoping you can put up with her. She seems rather bearable to me. And thank you for all the reviews, btw.

**Warnings**: OC main character (female, but no pairings!), mild language, violence, philosophical ranting, crude humor, realistic dialogue, unintentional AU-moments (please forgive me.)  
**Disclaimer**: _Knight Rider_ is respectively owned by Glen A. Larson. I only own Bridget, Micky, their families and the various original characters that appear.

* * *

She never knew what was so lovable about a typical day. Perhaps it was simply because nothing special happened on one of those days. She'd get up, go to school, bomb a surprise algebra quiz, come home and eventually go to sleep. Conversations she had that day would be forgotten and only rare important facts would be remember. Those days seemed to mesh together, never to be whole again in her memory out of necessity. On a typical day, things of importance were rarely said or done. It was just another day.

Bridget loved those typical days. She enjoyed knowing everything was well, nothing was amiss in her life. No one she cared about seemed in pain, nothing went wrong, nothing was overwhelming. She enjoyed going to sleep after those days, knowing that she survived yet another day as a teenager and would be able to try it all again the next morning. She loved the simplicity of it. She loved the normalcy.

Yet, at the same time, a typical day was only typical in the eye of the beholder. Deep down, Bridget knew that what she viewed as a typical day was far different than that of others.

"_Bridget, for the _**last**_ time, get your butt down here!"_

Her mother, Stacy Smith; just getting into the swing of middle age, she was always on the move. She attended a huge amount of fundraisers, activities, clubs and volunteer jobs around their small Michigan town called Orca. Bridget could remember, when she was still playing soccer, having to put up with her mother as her coach. Mrs. Smith was known to almost every child in Bridget's class. She was the kind of mom some kids dreamed of having. To Bridget, she was just mom, who demanded general perfection and punctuality.

"Coming!" Bridget roared back, sitting up violently in her bed.

She stopped momentarily, as if realizing something unsettling. Although her mother always greeted her as a wake-up call, Bridget relied on her alarm—her _special_ alarm—to wake her up every morning. This morning, it had not greeted her. The bedside clock read seven in the morning. Actually, six fifty-nine. She was one minute early. A lazy grin appeared on her face. "No wonder."

It _was_ no wonder. She gently tossed aside the blankets and stretched as she simultaneously swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was, unfortunately, not a morning person unlike her brother Charlie. It took her a lot of effort to get fully functional in the morning. This morning, her mind was unusually wide-awake, however. She stood and walked over to her drawers to get changed.

"Good morning," she said absentmindedly , pulling a drawer open and fishing out a turquoise top.

For anyone besides Bridget herself, the disembodied voice that seemed to reply to her comment would have made them jump right out of their skins. "Good morning."

The voice was flat. The tone made it impossible to tell anything about it, save that it was a male. There was also a cold undertone that was almost unnoticeable. To anyone besides Bridget, they would have shivered at the freezing voice, a cruel glint hidden within it.

"I admit, you got me good. When mom started calling and you didn't, I figured you had grown legs and finally walked on outta here," Bridget said. There was a smile on her face as she held up the shirt to her chest.

The voice snorted in disdain. "It was your mother made the error. I would have been on time with my announcement. If you learned to keep time adequately yourself, you would not need either of us to wake you every morning," it sneered.

Bridget did not seem insulted at its tone. "Not all of us have internal clocks that are accurate down to the nanosecond. Besides, I could always set my alarm clock like a totally normal person would," she countered. She frowned at her choice in the shirt. "Whadda you think?"

"What do I think about what?"

"My shirt. Should I wear this one or the pink one?" She held up the edge of another shirt, a pink sleeveless.

"I do not know nor do I care about your physical appearance, Bridget."

"You're useless," Bridget muttered. She sighed and began to pull off her current top, resigned to the blue blouse. "Cover your eyes."

Her tone was teasing. The voice did not laugh and its silence seemed to hint at its annoyance. Bridget changed quickly, knowing her mother would start yelling soon. As she pulled on her socks, she looked at the black and silver box on the overhanging bookshelf.

It was a beat up old thing; its sides might have been painted black a decade ago, but it was faded and worn now. Anyone with even minimal computer knowledge would know that the box had been part of some sort of machine. Dials, buttons, broken lights—it looked like something out of a futuristic setting, even if it was a tad dusty. On its sides and back, wires stuck out oddly. There was a single black cord that ran from the base of the box down to an outlet. It did not seem to fit the box at all.

"Okay, I have a feeling Old Strathmore is going to pull a quiz on us today," Bridget announced, looking away from the box. "Hit me."

"I have no limbs to strike you with," the voice replied coolly.

Bridget rolled her eyes. "Quiz me, dummy!" she chided.

"If f multiplied by x equals x multiplied by x minus one multiplied by x minus four, what are the possible values of x, where f multiplied by x is lesser than zero?"

A sour silence passed over the room. Bridget glowered at the box. "You are an evil, evil person, Karr," she grumbled.

"You should be able to compute a problem of that degree by now," Karr replied mercilessly.

"Yeah, if I had some paper and a pencil!"

"BRIDGET!" screeched her mother.

Bridget whirled around towards the door. "I'M COMING!" She snapped her neck up at the box and scowled. "We're not up to Trig yet, Karr. That's next semester."

"Understood." If she knew any better, she swore she heard a smirk in his voice. "What is two plus two?"

"Four!" she shouted back, thoroughly insulted. She heard her mother shout something unfriendly from downstairs and sighed. "Ugh, whatever! Thanks for the _help_." She ended on a sarcastic note.

"You're welcome," replied Karr, his wicked voice surprisingly smug.

Rolling her eyes, Bridget muttered unfriendly things and gathered up her school bag that hung at her desk's side. She looked herself over once more in the full mirror on her closet's door.

"I'll see you at three," she said, glancing up at the box out of instinct.

The voice said nothing. Bridget could not help but smile.

"Stay outta trouble," she added teasingly. Karr said nothing again in his usual way. Bridget shook her head and left the room.

**00000**

There was nothing more beautiful than the California skyline in the morning. Cloud cover did not seem to exist in this paradise. The beaches were already packed at ten, but if one knew where to look, there were quiet areas alongside the water where one could enjoy peace, serenity and solitude.

"This is the life," commented one of those lucky few that sat on the deserted edge of sandy beach. Sunglasses perched over his eyes, the man leaned back into his reclining chair, content.

A few yards away, the beach abruptly ended and became a parking lot. The black asphalt was covered in sand, but it was safe enough to park cars there. There was only one vehicle there, however. A black TransAm gleamed innocently in the sunlight.

The man in the chair glanced backwards at the car, undoubtedly his own. He grinned lazily. "Hey, buddy, why don't you come on out here? It's boring up there."

"I am perfectly fine up here, Michael," replied a calm, intelligent voice. It originated from the car itself.

"What, afraid of getting sand on your tires?"

"No, I'd just rather not sit in the middle of all that radiating heat," the car replied dryly.

Michael sat up slightly, eyeing the car with scrutiny. "Are you afraid of skin cancer?"

"I cannot contract that, Michael, but you know you can."

Grinning, Michael Knight shook his head. "Learn to relax, Kitt," he said, turning back around in his chair. "We're on vacation!"

Indeed. For the first time that year, Michael Knight had finally gotten Kitt to turn off his radio and drive down to the beach with the intent of staying for a week—a whole week of sitting around, doing nothing, not saving the day and just relaxing. Michael had not looked into employee benefits when he joined FLAG (mostly because he didn't have the chance to) all those years ago but he managed to get Devon to agree with him: he and Kitt deserved time off. They received two weeks of vacation time each year and Michael planned on using each day to the fullest.

"That may be," countered Kitt. "But I still don't know why you insist on just laying around. What if Devon or Bonnie need us for something?"

"Then they can call our hotel like normal people," countered Michael. He shifted the sunglasses, settling into the chair. "Buddy, _relax_. We've been doing this for almost nine years now. You _know_ I make Devon give us two weeks every year. You didn't complain last time."

"Last time included us staying in that cabin in the mountains with open radio contact," corrected Kitt. "It was much safer and less wasted."

"Yeah, but then we got that _urgent_ call," Michael replied, sarcastic. "And had to give up those two weeks to save four mountain climbers."

Kitt sighed, which was an amusing thing for a car to do. "It was an urgent call. It's exactly why I feel we should leave the contact line open. Just in case."

"Oh, come on, Kitt. After working all year long, can't you agree a little time off is good?"

"You make it sound like we're working around the clock," Kitt said. There was an audible frown in his voice. "There are many times we can relax at home, without having to waste four to five hours at a time on a deserted stretch of sand."

"But the view is nice," Michael countered, gesturing at the ocean in front of them.

Kitt did not reply. Michael laughed, knowing his partner was annoyed.

"I'm kidding, buddy," he sighed, sitting up. He stretched slowly. "Okay. We can leave the line open. But don't expect me to answer."

"Thank you, Michael," the car replied, lightly sarcastic. His whole form seemed to shift as he sighed again. "I do admit, it is nice to be able to relax."

"Now you get it!" Michael cried, laughing. He set his sunglasses back on his face and grinned. "Days like these are rare and gr—"

A soft dinging sound suddenly interrupted him and seemed completely out of place in the scenery. Michael sat up slowly, turning around in his seat to stare blankly at Kitt. The said TransAm sat in innocent silence as the unpleasant dinging continued.

"Is that the phone line?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Kitt replied calmly.

The outraged look on Michael's face made the AI chuckle at his friend's expense. Michael groaned and sank low in his beach chair.

"How?" he moaned. "How did they know to call _now_?"

Kitt chuckled again and said, "I don't know, Michael. In any case, it's Bonnie."

"That didn't improve my mood," Michael muttered darkly.

If he had eyes, Kitt would have rolled them at his driver. Instead, he silenced the obnoxious ringing by answering the phone.

"Yes, Bonnie?"

The familiar voice of Dr. Bonnie Barstow filled the air, as Kitt had put the call on speaker for Michael's sake. _"Hello, Kitt," _she said cheerfully. _"I was beginning to think there had been some trouble!"_

"Why would there be any trouble?" Kitt asked.

"_I've been trying to call you guys for the last half hour and you weren't picking up." _

Michael snorted and muttered something sarcastic. Kitt knew that his friend valued his vacation time dearly and continued to handle the speaking.

"Is there a problem?"

"_Well, not really,"_ Bonnie replied. She paused. _"Devon wants to talk with Michael and you."_

"We're busy!" Michael shouted from his spot.

"What for, Bonnie?" Kitt cut in.

Bonnie sighed. _"I have no idea. He mumbled something about the Board, but didn't say much else. I suppose it's nothing that urgent if he hasn't made a big fuss about it."_ She sounded tired.

"Tell him we'll call later," Michael interjected.

"_Alright,"_ Bonnie replied. She tsked. _"I should have known not to call, huh? Not on your special days."_

"Yeah," replied Michael dryly.

Bonnie sighed. _"How have you managed to stand him this long, Kitt?" _she asked the car.

Kitt chuckled. "I managed."

"Hey!" cried Michael, insulted.

"_In any case,"_ Bonnie began._"I'll leave you two to your vacation. Lord knows you deserve it. Just get back to Devon sometime soon, okay?"_

"I'll make sure we do in the next few days. Stay well, Bonnie."

"_You too, Kitt. Bye, Michael."_

"Goodbye," Michael muttered.

Kitt would have shaken his head in exasperation as the call ended.

"If she thinks I'm going to drop my plans for work, she better think again," Michael muttered, settling back into his chair.

"I thought you said we didn't have any plans."

Michael rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"What exactly are we going to do, then?" Kitt asked.

"We, my friend, are going to enjoy this beautiful weather and make ever minute here count," replied his driver. "Whatever Devon has to tell us can wait a few hours until we head back to the hotel, right?"

"Hopefully," the car mumbled darkly.

"To summer and relaxation, then," Michael said as he grinned and held up his beer. "Cheers!"

Kitt made a condescending sound and muttered, "Joy."

* * *

I'm vaguely pleased with how this is going so far. I think I've gotten things accurate. Hopefully. More Karr next chapter, I swear!

**A/Ns**  
1. Yes, Karr lives in Bridget's bedroom on a shelf. Why? Where has his body gone? Why is he attached to an extension cord/outlet? How can he stand talking to Bridget so calmly? Who the hell is Bridget anyway? Wait a few chapters and all of that will be explained.  
2. Michael seems kinda…blah. I don't know. He's supposed to be this macho, justice-loving guy…but there aren't any scenes that applies to that attitude any time soon. :\ Just hang in and bear with his OOC-ness for now, please.  
3. Michael's a little possessive of his vacation days, I think. Wouldn't you be? I would. Lol.


	3. 02 Plans

Thank you for the awesome reviews!

You meet another original character, Micky, who plays an important secondary role in this story. And then you meet some guy who is really a jerk. (Plus Devon Miles, too. He's the reason this took so long to post!)

**Warnings**: OC main character (female, but no pairings!), mild language, violence, philosophical ranting, crude humor, realistic dialogue, unintentional AU-moments (please forgive me.)  
**Disclaimer**: _Knight Rider_ is respectively owned by Glen A. Larson. I only own Bridget, Micky, their families and the various original characters that appear.

* * *

Bridget didn't trust many people; she learned early on when her father left them that people were not always trustworthy. To earn her trust in them, people had to honestly work for it. Not many people were that interesting in earning the trust of an adolescent girl, so she was often left with no one to turn to. However, in the midst of her small town, there was one person she knew, at least to some degree, she could count on.

"Hey, Micky," she called, climbing the last few stairs up to the high school's front doors. There was only one elementary school, one junior high and one high school in the whole town. Equally, there was only one school bus. She took it, but her friend did not.

Micky Lealand was a strange sort of boy and Bridget had known this from the moment they met in pre-kindergarten. Tall and gangly, he didn't have curly hair nor was it straight; it had a unique wiry look that never failed to attract people to touch it experimentally. While he was vastly intelligent, he often seemed to be lacking basic common sense, especially when concerning maintaining reality. Micky certainly didn't have the cutest face or was the most built boy in town, but he wasn't ugly either. He was in a category for which Bridget didn't have a name or definition.

"Hello, Bridget," Micky replied from his spot near the doors. He was rummaging through his overly packed backpack in search of something.

Bridget stopped in front of him, bemused. "Lost something?" she asked. She already knew the answer.

"I can't seem to find my pen," Micky replied, frowning at the bulging bag.

"The one with the red cap?"

"Yeah. Weird."

"Yep," Bridget said. She shook her head, unable to hold back a smile. She reached down and plucked the pen that had been hiding behind Micky's ear and held it out to him. "This it?"

Micky's eyebrows rose up to his hairline. "Ah, there it is," he said, taking the pen. "Thanks, Bridget."

"You're welcome."

He stood, mounted the massive bag back onto his back and they entered the doors together. They didn't bother with mild conversation; Bridget had learned early on that Micky did not find small talk interesting. To him, words were wasted that way. He only spoke when there was something important to be said. He would ignore her if she tried talking about pointless things, but the moment she needed help or had a serious issue, he would be there to give advice. And he had very good advice sometimes. For this, Bridget knew she could trust him with anything and everything.

"Did it come yet?" she asked, stopping as Micky fiddled with his locker. He could never fit the bag into the locker, but managed to rid himself of some of the items inside.

"It's arriving tomorrow," Micky replied. He briefly smiled. "We seem to have run into a bit of a lucky streak so far, Bridget. Your tastes were very hard to accommodate."

"They aren't _my_ tastes," Bridget shot back, annoyed. "He is the most picky guy, Mick, that I have ever met. It _had_ to be black. It _had_ to be fast. Considering his current predicament and species, I would have thought he would have leaped for anything with four wheels and an engine."

"Artificial intelligence or not, his personality cannot be confined to just that of a bodiless voice," Micky replied calmly. He shut his locker and heaved the bag to his shoulders again. It was still a massive load and Bridget was glad she wasn't the one carrying it. "How is the cord managing, by the way? I don't need to make another replacement this month, do I?"

"No, he could make it another week. All of yours are much better than any of my attempts," Bridget replied, looking sheepish. "I don't think he's ever forgiven me for the first few years."

"You were eleven. How were you supposed to know how to correctly hotwire a super advanced computer to an ordinary electrical cord?"

"Still. I think I electrocuted him like twenty times since then."

Micky stopped and smiled at her again, a rare humorous glint to his hazel eyes. "But the fact you did your best to keep him alive nevertheless stands out much more clearly," he said.

Mulling over his words, Bridget frowned. He did make sense. She understood very little about Karr's general programming and make-up due to his anti-social behavior, but she did know he only cared about one thing: himself. He had made it clear early on that he distrusted her actions, but Bridget knew he also desperately needed her. His lack of trust ebbed away as the years went on and somewhere along those lines, Bridget could only presume he felt a little gratitude.

Hopefully.

They stopped at her locker next. Micky leaned against the blank wall next to her, staring out into empty space. That was completely normal for him.

"How is he handling the prospect of receiving a body?" Micky abruptly asked.

Bridget, surprised at the sudden conversation, looked up. "I don't know. I don't think he knows how far we've been getting with the whole thing."

"What about psychologically?"

"He would _love_ to finally move," Bridget snorted, rolling her eyes. "To get away from his 'domestic prison,' as he calls it. I bet he would dance with glee if he could get legs."

Micky frowned quietly for a moment. "Do you think he will leave?" he asked.

Bridget stopped, the book she had picked up motionless in her hand. She shrugged. She didn't know and probably never would until it happened. Karr and his motives were impossible to figure out.

"Would you miss him?" Micky asked, his voice growing quieter.

"I…" Bridget began, unprepared for this sort of question. She stood up and closed her locker, her books in her arms. "I dunno," she finally said, honestly unsure. "It'd be really weird not to have him around."

"Would he stay if you asked?"

To that question, Bridget grinned sarcastically. "You're joking, right?" she asked. She laughed wickedly and turned as they began to walk down the hallway. "I don't know anything more about artificial intelligence than I do mechanics, Micky, but I know one thing for sure: ask Karr to do one thing, he does the complete opposite."

Micky only smiled briefly, understanding. That was another this Bridget was thankful about Micky. He never pushed farther than she was comfortable with answering. He may not have been observant about some things, but he knew a whole lot more about the workings of people than Bridget dared to imagine.

"So, we have a date tomorrow afternoon?" Bridget ventured as they approached their homeroom door.

"Three thirty, garage," Micky replied.

Bridget grinned. "Can't wait."

**00000**

For all of the time he had been in this spacious country he had learned to call home, Devon Miles had never learned to appreciate the crassness of the general American. Most of his associates were fine people, of course, and quite pleasant to be around. Then there were people like Michael Knight. Those were the ones who really put the culture in perspective.

"_He says to call back later,"_ Dr. Bonnie Barstow said over the phone. She sounded sarcastic. _"He and Kitt need more relaxation before they can handle a phone call with their boss."_

Devon sighed, knowing full well how stubborn Michael could be. "I see," he said, leaning back into his chair, which creaked in protest. "He certainly knows how to milk vacation benefits for all they are worth, doesn't he?"

"_Yes,"_ Bonnie laughed. _"Kitt sends his regards, though."_

"He _is_ the polite one," murmured Devon, shaking his head. "Ah, well. They deserve the time off. This can wait."

"_This is still about a review, though, right?" _Bonnie asked.

"Oh, yes. The Board is insisting on a biannual status report on Knight Interprises Two Thousand now."

Bonnie made an agreeing noise. _"Kitt's usually really good with me poking around in him, but I always feel invasive,"_ she said. Devon could almost hear her shrug._"Michael hates these reports though. He says its like they're trying to break Kitt down into money value. Frankly, I have to agree with him on that."_

"They being the Foundation committee," Devon began, unable to hide a smile. "Are looking out for the best interest of Kitt as well as Michael. Although some fools may argue his sentience, I for one believe Kitt is a fine fellow."

Bonnie laughed again. _"What would we all do without you, Devon?"_ she asked, her voice light again. _"I'll call Michael again tomorrow. Maybe he won't be so wrapped up in his relaxation then."_

"That would be ideal, Bonnie. Many thanks."

"_No problem. Bye bye."_

"Good bye, dear," Devon said.

The other end of the line hung up and he sat there, staring at the phone. His face was lined with new weary. Looking up at the ceiling, he shook his head.

"Your creations certainly are living up to their expectations, Wilton," he said quietly. He sighed heavily and closed his eyes as though exhausted. "I can only hope that I can say the same that the company."

"What about the company?"

Devon sat up so quickly, his chair nearly buckled. At the front door of his office, which he had unfortunately forgotten to lock, stood a man in his mid-forties. This man was tall and lean, but had a waxy complexion. His eyes were dark and beady, as though seeing through everything they laid sight on. He was an uncomely character—someone who sucked the life out of everything they touched.

"Mr. Lanski," Devon said, his voice dropping from his usual cheerful tone to cool and reserved.

"Please, Devon," Lanski exclaimed, smiling. The gesture was odd and did not seem to fit his face. It was unsettling wrong. "Call me Dennis."

"Ah, but as head of the board of directors of Knight Industries, you deserve the respect," Devon countered, smiling back. He stood stiffly, but kept his polite face on. "What brings you to the Foundation today? I thought you were going to wait until Mr. Knight and Kitt returned."

"I just wanted to get a nice glimpse of the estate," was the falsely pleasant response. Lanski paused. "So, Mr. Knight is not here with the Knights Two Industries Thousand, then?" he asked calmly.

"No. They're on vacation." Devon smiled. "And are not to be disturbed, if you don't mind me saying. Michael is very protective of his days off."

"I see," Lanski murmured. He turned and walked around the decoratively furnished room, as if interested in the wall tiles. "This used to be the office of my uncle, did it not?"

Devon cleared his throated, uneasy, and nodded. "Yes. Wilton spent many a great hour thinking in here. Genius of a man. He's done wonders for the world as we know it."

"His neglect of the company itself certainly has not lent itself to be useful," Lanski countered. He smirked knowingly. "If he had put as much effort into the company as he did with this pet project, who knows what the earnings would have been by now?"

"Wilton was not about making money, Dennis," Devon replied, his voice strict. His eyes were hard. "And Kitt is a masterpiece thanks to Wilton Knight. No one could have done better."

"Of course!" cried Lanski, smiling indifferently. He held up his hands in mock defeat. "You are completely right, my friend. I just have to make sure that I keep the Industries alive. What would ever happen to FLAG if Knight Industries ceased to exist?"

Swallowing mechanically, Devon clenched his jaw. "God only knows," he offered coldly.

"And that is exactly why I need to see the Knights Two Industries Thousand soon," Lanski continued, seemingly ignorant to Devon's hostility. "That inspection is of a very high priority and you should make it so for yourself as well."

"I understand," Devon replied. He forced himself to make a small smile. "I'll call Michael as soon as he's available and tell him to head back immediately."

Lanski eyed him directly, the younger man's eyes just as beady as before. "That would be very much appreciated, Devon."

The small talk was over and Lanski bid his good byes quickly, his warning done with. When the door shut and he was sure he was alone, Devon sat down in his chair, face drawn tight with worry, exhaustion and uncertainty of the future.

**00000**

Karr could not help but ask "why?" Why was it that he was there, in the hands of a human child? A child who tripped over her own feet? A child who's aggravating aim for dominance often chaffed with his own? Why did he put up with her presence when she grated his patience so consistently?

Some questions had no answers, unfortunately.

He would not reply to her greeting when three o'clock rolled around every afternoon when she came home from school. Bridget would always say "hello," "good-bye" and other sorts of greeting. Karr rarely said anything back. Such exchanges were pointless and a waste of energy. The child never seemed to mind, however, and would continue to greet him the next time. She seemed to find it amusing. Karr learned to ignore her.

However, as much as he ignored her, he did notice that she said it. That's why when that particular afternoon came around, Karr noticed something was off.

The bedroom door shut neatly just as the bedside clock read five after three. Karr noticed first of all that she was five minutes later than usual. It wasn't as if the bus she rode actually was punctual, he added sarcastically. Human comprehension of keeping time was severely poor. He almost pitied them for this and that was the reason he agreed to wake Bridget up every morning exactly at seven. Part of him secretly wished to somehow teach the blasted child how to manage time appropriately, but it was a failed experiment from the start.

Bridget had come in quiet and remained quiet as she deposited her school bag next to her desk. She untied the band keeping her long hair in a ponytail, fixed up the slightly windblown mess and tied it up again. Karr waited for what he knew was coming, the annoyingly familiar "Hey, Karr!" or "I'm back!" that Bridget seemed to think was necessary to state. He already knew she was back when she approached the front walk; there wasn't a need for her to state it verbally. She did anyway and Karr finally gave in to the tradition some years ago.

Several minutes passed in silence. Bridget had removed her sneakers and shoved them to the side. She flopped back onto her bed with a sigh, physically tired from whatever she had done that day.

Nothing was said.

For some reason, an itch of irritation tingled Karr's processor.

Perhaps the girl was too exhausted from her day to acknowledge the AI. Then again, Karr reminded himself, something as small exhaustion wouldn't stop someone like Bridget from greeting him. He had seen her doubled over with some kind of human illness many times before, unable to even sit up, and she still had greeted him every morning and bid him goodnight at night. Something was off.

He waited for a few more minutes. Bridget said nothing. She continued to frown up at the ceiling, as if thinking. She thought often. He never asked what she thought about. He didn't care. Sometimes he felt curious if he saw her cringe at some unknown thought or grumbled darkly over an issue, but he never asked about what. Sometimes she would ask his opinion about something and he would give it, if he wasn't too tired. He was tired all the time, actually, due to the lack of a stable energy source. Some days were worse than others. Bridget seemed to know this and hardly provoked him into an extensive conversation. Karr was thankful she paid attention to some things, at least.

Karr felt curiosity build up inside him as the minutes ticked away. Bridget's silence was very irregular. As much as he hated the occasional surprises the child brought into his life, he found sitting on his dusty shelf overly boring at times. Anything out of the norm was something to investigate, to keep his mind active in the very least. He didn't know how to approach the situation, however. He decided to take a chance.

"You are five minutes late."

Bridget twitched, a sign she had not been expecting him to speak. Her eyes flicked up to Karr's box-like home. "Mm," she agreed.

She did not seem like she wanted to talk. That was equally odd, Karr noted. She never shut up, normally. This was interesting.

"I take it you failed the quiz," he said coolly. His accusation was meant to be bait for another bickering match. They were often quick, painless and proved amusing.

"What quiz?" Bridget asked, not really paying attention.

"The mathematics quiz you took today."

"Oh. Uh, nah, I passed," she said, returning to staring at the ceiling.

She dropped the conversation there. Karr frowned subconsciously. Her actions were extremely unexpected. He decided not to speak up again, but watched the child suspiciously.

The next few hours passed uneventfully. Bridget eventually got up from her bed, scribbled away on some apparent homework and went down for dinner when her mother called. She said nothing. Karr's curiosity was beginning to morph into growing apprehension. Something was wrong with the child. He didn't care for her sake, really, but if something was affecting her, it would effect him eventually. He remembered when the child's father left—she didn't dust him off for weeks.

After dinner, Bridget worked on her homework some more. At nine o'clock, she put away her books, went to the bathroom, changed and turned off her light to settle into bed. It was the same thing she always did every night for the past seven years that Karr had watched her. However, something was different.

She didn't say goodnight.

The whole thing was beginning to really annoy him.

He didn't know what else to do. Or say for that matter. He couldn't be sure if this was some sort of ploy Bridget was planning to use to get him to finally greet her first. He would never. It held no purpose. It was her job to do it, not his, anyway. Then again, the whole this disturbed him. The child could never put on a façade for this long without cracking. This was real silence.

"Are you slipping into another depression?" he asked neutrally. He did not care that his voice was cold and shattered the silence in such a cruel manner. He did speak in a low tone; he did not need Bridget's mother bursting in again, suspecting her daughter had a visitor.

Bridget's still form twitched again. "Huh?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

Karr bit back the sneering tone he wanted to speak in. "Your regular evening pattern has been altered," he stated.

"My what?"

"You have not spoken to me without provocation."

Bridget turned around to face the AI, even though she could not see in the dark. "I haven't spoken to you?" she echoed, surprised. She laughed softly. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realize."

_Didn't realize?_ repeated Karr to himself. He would have scowled darkly if he had a face. The child was sometimes thoughtless to the point of aggravation.

"I've been…thinking," Bridget added.

"Thinking does not normally cause one to change from their normal ritual actions," Karr said dryly.

"I've been thinking a bit abnormally," Bridget admitted, smiling in the darkness.

Obviously. Karr waited, expecting a continuous. The child would normally take his silence as a hint to explain or describe her thoughts. Most of the time they were frivolous things, like boys or school.

Bridget did not explain. Karr waited for several minutes. His annoyance rose again. He wanted to know.

When Bridget flopped over on her back again, Karr assumed that was the end of it. He was tempted to provoke her again, but to his mild relief, he did not have to.

"Do you still want a body, Karr?"

Karr hesitated. The question was unexpected. And personal. He did not like either kind of question. He growled lowly.

"Why?"

Bridget shrugged in her position on the bed. "Just wondering," she replied calmly.

Silence.

"Yes, of course I want my body back," Karr snapped, slightly wary of his own self-exposure. Why was he telling her this? "I am sick of staring at these four walls and sick of acting like some kind of lowly alarm clock for a seventeen year old human who can't even walk in a straight line." He hoped that summed up his feelings on the matter, so that she would drop it.

The child seemed amused by his answer. She sighed, as if tired. "I figured as much," she replied.

"Then why did you bother to ask me?" Karr demanded hotly.

"I just…" Bridget stopped. She laughed. Karr had a feeling the laugh was directed at herself. "I just wanted to know."

The sincerity in her voice made Karr growl in annoyance. The girl was frustrating as a youth but she was even worse as an adolescent.

"The next time you decide to be irrational, do not include me," he threatened. He did not know why he even bothered to communicate with the girl anyway. "Your baseless questions and theories are not worth the energy to investigate."

As she had for the past seven years, Bridget only grinned and took his bitterness in stride. "Okay. Sorry for bugging you," she said calmly. She turned over, her back to the shelf, and grew still.

Karr, although somewhat content that Bridget was just being strange and not affected by a real problem, angrily pulled away his mind from the room. He was sick of her, just as he was sick of those four blue walls. They were nothing but a prison. There was no point in interacting with them.

However, as another minute passed and silence fell again, Karr realized that he was still not completely appeased. There was still something about the whole thing that did not sit right at all. He cautiously drew back to the room, scanning. Bridget's internal nervous system was completely normal, but Karr stayed focused on the still human form.

Then…

"G'night, Karr."

It was only a mumble, said in a half-asleep condition already. Yet, to hear it made Karr's processor perk up, despite the poor source of electricity he was allowed.

He hated this room and he hated the overtly human child who gave him shelter.

But he loved keeping to a pattern.

* * *

.

What sort of "date" are Micky and Bridget planning? Wait and find out.

1. Who is Micky? Micky is a childhood acquaintance of Bridget who became a close friend when she was about fourteen. More will be explained about that AND why Micky knows about Karr. Bridget has not told many people, not even her family.  
2. Damn it, did I get Devon right?  
3. Yes, Karr is mean. He was programmed to be mean. But as you'll soon find out (hopefully), something happened during these seven years as a bodiless CPU. A fact a fourteen-year-old Bridget once pointed out is very important to the story line and you will hear that fact soon. Hopefully.  
4. Um. No one ever told me Devon died in the movie. O-o WHY? Obviously, this story overrides what happened in the movie.


	4. 03 Gift

Karr gets a special present three years in the making. But first, Michael's precious "me-time" is interrupted. Again. Lol.

Does anyone know where the Knight Estate is located? I'm thinking its in California somewhere, but I don't know for sure. Help would be great!

**Warnings: **OC main character (female, but no pairings!), mild language, violence, philosophical ranting, crude humor, realistic dialogue, unintentional AU-moments (please forgive me.)  
**Disclaimer:**_ Knight Rider _is respectively owned by Glen A. Larson. I only own Bridget, Micky, their families and the various original characters that appear.

* * *

It had taken Kitt nearly an hour over Michael's wrist communicator to get the man to come down from his hotel and call Devon. His excessive "nagging" as Michael called it had worked in the end and his driver was once again sitting behind the wheel of the parked car.

"Let's just get this over with," Michael muttered as Kitt dialed the number. He crossed his arms and wore a sour expression, directed at the dashboard. "This probably isn't even important."

"You never know," Kitt replied calmly. "I'm calling on video phone."

"Alright, thanks."

The television screen on Kitt's front flickered and then the image of Devon Miles appeared on the screen. The head of FLAG was seated in his usual spot behind his desk, tea cup in hand as always.

"_Ah, Michael," _Devon began cheerfully.

Michael started to reply, but noticed something. There were dark rims underneath Devon's eyes and the older man seemed especially jittery. The tea cup was unsteady in his hands. Also, the man seemed tired. Not just tired…exhausted.

"_Michael?"_ Devon asked, frowning as he noticed. _"Are you alright?"_

"Uh, yeah," Michael replied quickly. He mimicked the look back at his boss. "I could ask you the same, Devon. You look terrible."

"Thank_ you, Michael."_

"I'm serious! Everything okay over there?"

Devon laughed. It was weak, but sounded like the old Devon Michael knew. _"Yes, yes, we're all fine. Bonnie is a bit miffed over your rude dismissal that last time she called, of course."_

Michael scowled like a child would. "Hey! I've told you for the last nine years, Devon—vacation days are off limits!"

"_I know, I know,"_ Devon said, shaking his head in exasperation. _"I wouldn't have insisted that you call unless it was important and it is."_

"Oh?" said Michael.

"_In a way, it is. Kitt's annual examination is due."_

"Ah," Kitt said as if he had not been expecting that.

Michael stared at the screen, surprised. "Examination?" he repeated. He laughed but his expression remained incredulous. "You mean the status check-up? Devon, I know, you told me last month. I thought we were going to do this after we got back."

"_Yes, but we had to move up our schedules,"_ Devon replied. His voice was unnaturally grim and tight. _"The new head chairman of Knight Industries wants to meet with the two of you for a personal interview. He has expressed interest in questioning Kitt himself."_

Michael felt a level of discomfort rise in him. "You don't sound too happy about that."

"_You could say I have my doubts about the sincerity of said chairman."_ Devon sighed and smiled again. _"However, it's nothing you two should be worried about. Bonnie will be leading the exam as usual and Michael, you are welcome to oversee the procedure."_

"Thanks, Devon," Michael replied. He stretched slightly, feigning a yawn. "We don't have to leave now, do we?"

Devon smiled knowingly. _"No, Michael. Enjoy your vacation, but do hurry back."_

Michael nodded. "Thanks."

"Is there anything else you needed to tell us?" Kitt asked.

"_No, Kitt. You should be enjoying yourself, too."_

"I offered to introduce him to some babes at the pool, but he won't have it," Michael said, shrugging.

Devon made a sour expression and Michael laughed. Kitt would have rolled his eyes if he had any.

"We will seen you next week then," the AI said.

"_Yes. Have a good time."_

"Thank you, Devon."

The transmission ended. Michael sighed and stretched again. "Looks like its the doctor's office for you, buddy," he joked.

"I do not like the examination," Kitt said suddenly, surprising his driver. In the AI's voice, there was a shrug. "I trust Bonnie, of course."

"Me too, about both things," Michael replied. He patted the wheel affectionately. "Don't worry, buddy. I'll stay with you and we'll be done with it before you know it."

This took Kitt by surprise. "You'll stay? You never did before."

"Yeah, this time is different."

"What do you mean?"

Michael shrugged and pulled his jacket closer. "I don't know. Something with Devon is off and I have a feeling its because of that chairman guy. I think we should all watch our backs for now."

"Even on vacation?" Kitt asked dryly.

Michael laughed. "No, after. I got a date at twelve fifteen today, tomorrow and the next day and I plan on enjoying myself the whole time in between."

Kitt sighed. "Pleasure before work is the moto you seem to follow religiously, Michael," he said tiredly.

"Don't be like that, buddy. I can see a real cute yellow Volkswagen from here that I think meets your tastes. I could hook you up."

"Michael!"

**00000**

Sometimes Karr wondered if the past seven years of sitting on a dust-ridden shelf had addled with his processors. That would explain why he bothered to put up with Bridget or allow her to promptly sweep him off the built in shelf that cloudy Saturday morning, dump him in the bed of a Radio Flyer wagon and then be hauled off down the street. It was not even six in the morning, which was a fact that immediately put Karr on edge. Bridget was behaving uncomfortably too brightly for such a non-morning person that she was.

"Why," he began, his voice loud and revealing of his anger. "Did you cut me off from my only source of energy to have you pull me around in this manner without protection?"

Bridget, grinning brightly, didn't look back at him as she worked hard to pull them both up the steep hill. "'Cause we got a surprise for you!" she said.

"Surprise?" he echoed with a neutral tone. He was secretly disturbed by this notion; a surprise to Bridget often meant discomfort for him later.

"Yup, surprise."

A thought suddenly struck him. "And just WHO is we?" he demanded harshly.

"Micky. Who else?"

Ah, the silent boy. He was one of the few humans Karr had ever noted as intelligent. The boy knew what he was doing the majority of the time. For that, Karr trusted him to do remote repairs on him. Neither child knew exactly what they were dealing with concerning a system as complex and alien as Karr's, but for the time being they had been relatively lucky. Bridget was trying to learn mechanics, but could never learn the electrical finesse Micky seemed to be naturally endowed with.

They reached their destination in good time. Micky lived only a few blocks from Bridget—as did everyone else in town. Orca was big enough for everyone not to know everyone, but close enough. The Lealands lived towards the more prestigious end of town and had a large house. Karr never asked Micky how his parents had acquired their wealth and lacking access to any Wi-Fi connections via his old applications, he could not look anything up. Also, he didn't care.

Bridget huffed in exhaustion as she turned into the driveway.

"You are terribly out of shape when soccer is not is season," Karr remarked in his usually flat voice. At least she had brought her purse with her and he felt safe enough to bait her about her breathing.

"Shut," Bridget began to say, exhaling heavily. "Up."

Micky was waiting for them half-way down the blacktop. He waved and Bridget repeated the gesture back, shifting her hands on the wagon's handle to do so.

"Good morning, Bridget. Good morning, Karr," Micky said as the two approached. He smiled calmly. "Are you excited?"

Bridget grinned in reply. "You bet we are."

"Do I have to ask you again for an explanation for what _we_ are so _excited_ about?" Karr demanded, each letter dripping with sarcastic anger. "I would _suggest_ that one of you starts speaking."

"You'll understand everything in just a little longer, Karr," Micky soothed as they trudged up the driveway towards the open garage doors. "I promise."

Karr grumbled darkly, but remained quiet as they approached the house. The garage was the only part of the Lealand's home he had ever seen the inside of and while it was definitely better than some of the other places he had been kept over the years as KARR, he liked Bridget's room a whole lot more.

The garage itself could fit two cars, maybe even three, if the one side full of tools and junk were removed. The cement floor was covered in wood shavings, dust and miscellaneous metal bits from one project or another. On the one side, opposite of where Micky's workstation was, was a large mass covered by a tarp. From its shape, Karr figured it was a car. He did not care to investigate with his more precise scanners and focused his attentions on the two teenagers. They had looked around nervously before shutting the one door of the garage and made sure the smaller door that was led into the actual house was securely locked. Their secrecy was beginning to disturb him.

They placed him gingerly onto the wide worktable next to the one covered with three rolls of blueprint paper. Karr scanned the room warily. It was a relatively clean space above the grimy floor, but there were many tools lining the cork walls. Micky was wearing overalls and at his waist was an array of tools. They weren't planning on working on _him_, were they?

"I ask again," Karr began, a threat lingering in his words. "What is our purpose of being here?"

Micky smiled slightly. "We wanted it to be a surprise," he explained carefully.

That did nothing to ease Karr's nerves. "What to be a surprise?" he said, his voice rising.

Bridget and Micky exchanged grins. That was not a good sign. Karr sat with growing apprehension, knowing full well that he would not be able to resist any rogue experiment the children were planning. He would have no choice in what they did to him, but he complained anyway.

"I demand to know what you are planning to do to me," he said, his voice crisp and cold. Even without a body, he was a menacing presence and he played on this when needed.

"We're not doing anything to you," Bridget replied, sitting down on a wooden stool next to the AI. She smiled comfortingly at him, even though she knew he would have glared back. "Not for a while, anyway. That's later."

Now extremely alarmed, Karr hissed. "Spit it out already!" he shouted, reverting to human slang. He picked up so many useless phrases from the child. "Why am I here?"

"To see this," Micky replied.

The boy walked over to the other side of the garage where the covered mass was. Karr watched warily, not knowing what could be revealed underneath the tarp. Bridget leaned closer to him, still smiling. Micky grasped the edge of the tarp and pulled it away.

An audible gasp escaped Karr's processors.

"Happy birthday!" Bridget cried with enthusiasm.

Micky rolled his eyes as he wrapped up the tarp and put it aside.

It was a car. It was a black car. It was a Ford Mustang model, sleek and eye catching. It's paint job held obvious signs of wear and two of the tires were flat. Otherwise, the vehicle looked like it was in complete working condition. Karr stared at it with uncertainty.

"It took three years and two thousand dollars saved," Bridget began, laughing slightly. "But we got you a black sports car, Karr."

Him? They got it for him? Karr's shock was slowly subsiding and was replaced with confusion. Why…?

"I have a cousin at the police impound over in Samson(4)," Micky explain carefully. He was still smiling. "This was taken in a drug bust operation and the owner had to give it to the police department as bail. They were going to sell it back to a dealership, but I managed to get them to sell directly to us."

"We shanghaied the police department," Bridget chirped.

Ignoring her completely, Karr focused on Micky. "And how does this relate to me?" he asked slowly. He had a hunch, but he didn't dare voice it.

Both teenagers exchanged grins again. Karr growled warningly. He did not like their secretive attitude.

"Do you remember your wish you told me?" Bridget asked, looking at him with a soft look.

Karr hesitated. He remembered. He had wanted nothing more. It was his only desire.

Micky smiled gently. "Starting today, we're going to give you that dream," he said.

_Give me…? _Karr could not stop the rising anticipation building inside him. "How?" he finally asked.

In her usual fashion from grinning ear to ear, Bridget leaned in closely to him. "We," she began, "are going to give you your body back."

* * *

.

1. OMFG Devon, why are you so difficult?  
2. Wireless Internet/Wi-Fi – it was "created" in 1991. This story is taking place in 1991. Umm. I would hazard a guess that Kitt and Karr had been made with these types of technology because FLAG, in all of its importance, would have had access to earlier models/versions of this tech. But it was never mentioned in the show. Hell, they never explained how Kitt could whip up random information from police records and such. I can only guess that this was via the Internet. I ADMIT: I'm making this up as I go. SO, SUE ME. :3  
3. Mustang! Yes! They are sexy. :D Yes, Karr's new form is a Ford Mustang. Google it for an image example. I personally like the way that model looks and it's menacing enough to fit Karr. Yes, menacing. He's downright scary to me, in a good way. And yes, I know that this story is supposed to be taking place in 1991 (when I was _born_! ;-;) but just pretend. This new 2007 model looks prettier than the '91 version.  
4. Samson is a neighboring city to Orca (where Bridget and Micky live.) It is much larger, but not a metropolis by any means.

Reviews are adored, k thx.


	5. 04 Not A Machine

Things are finally explained. Wow. Please note that big groups of words/actions/dialogue that are _italicized_ are a flashback.

**Warnings**: OC main character (female, but no pairings!), mild language, violence, philosophical ranting, crude humor, realistic dialogue, unintentional AU-moments (please forgive me.)  
**Disclaimer**: _Knight Rider_ is respectively owned by Glen A. Larson. I only own Bridget, Micky, their families and the various original characters that appear.

* * *

It was noon before Micky finished with the new extension cord and Karr could settle back to review the morning's events. Everything was moving fast. As much as he would rather not be so actively involved with the humans, Karr's interest had been piqued. Finally, an opportunity of freedom had come to him—and he was going to take it.

"Now for secret number two," Bridget announced once she and Micky came back from inside Micky's house after lunch. Karr grumbled when she placed a condensation-covered soda can so close to his CPU, but his attention had been diverted successfully.

_A second secret?_ Karr echoed mentally.

There was a second tarp covering another mass a few feet away from the Mustang on another table. Micky, after wiping his hands clean, went over and removed the covering. Karr managed to withhold this gasp of surprise, but the feeling was the same.

The table was covered with metal, some rusted, some still black, and other obviously aged from time and nature. There was an engine, still crusted with dirt. Nuts, bolts, a rear tire axle, gears, shifters, a break pedal—Karr's inventory went on. Every single piece of broken machinery he recognized. That was because each of those pieces once was _him_.

"How?" Karr finally managed to say, unable to hide his disbelief.

Bridget laughed. "Remember that road trip to Disney Land I went on with Micky and his family three years ago?"

Karr remembered. She had left him on the shelf for nearly two months alone. It had been one of the most mundane experiences he had ever had since coming into her possession.

"Well, we made sure we stopped along a specific stretch of road on the way," Bridget finished. Both she and Micky grinned.

_They had collected the remains of my shell?_ Karr said to himself, surprised. Bridget had made no mention of this before. She really had been working since she made her promise to get him fixed seven years ago. She was going through with her promise on top of that. It was…unsettling.

"The new body is kinda beat up right now," Micky began, tapping the dull hood of the Mustang. "But we should worry about getting you fixed up to the car first."

"You have no knowledge of how to properly assemble any of my components," Karr countered briskly. He went on the defensive again, quickly recovering from his momentary display of emotion.

"We know the basics," Bridget replied, leaning forward from the stool she was seated on. "Could you guide us through the not-basics, then?"

Karr did not reply at first. He could supply them with the general instructions on how to properly attach his CPU to the structure of car. The process was delicate and dangerous. One ill move could wipe his processor. Also, there was no guarantee the parts of his previous form were still functional enough to use in this new vehicle.

"There are too many risks," he finally stated.

"Aw, I thought you liked challenges," Bridget said, pretending to look disappointed. She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Karr! For the last seven years you've been with me, can't you spare me a little bit of confidence? I'd never purposely hurt you."

"Purposely or not, you are too clumsy," Karr sneered.

"And I'm not," Micky countered. He smiled gently at the AI. "Karr, we promised you a body."

They did. Karr would not deny that or the fact he wanted one as well.

Bridget leaned closer to him, smiling softly. "Do you remember what I told you five years ago?" she asked quietly.

Karr remembered a lot of things Bridget Smith had told him over the last seven years while he remained bodiless. She told him silly things only a child would care about. She told him deep things that they could actually hold intelligent debates over. She told him things that he bluntly ignored and tossed away. She told him things that he was sure would stay in his memory banks as long as he was activated. However, even if the number of things told were great, Karr understood which specific thing she was talking about now…

"_So, you're a robot?" the thirteen year old child had asked, staring intently at the box which held Karr. It had taken her two years for the stubborn AI to even communicate with her. "I thought robots were supposed to serve mankind, not throw insults at us."_

"_I am designed to care solely for myself and no other," he replied, monotone. He disliked the child, but he could put up with mild conversation._

"_If you're a machine, then everything you do and say is programmed, right?" Bridget asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're just a computer, then?"_

_Karr hissed, angered. "My basic functions may be programmed, but not my will—I am no tool. I am me!" he nearly shouted. How dare she compare him to a basic computer while she herself was inferior? _

"_Then that means you can learn."_

"_Learn? Learn what?" he demanded, somewhat insulted. She was an obsolete human; what could she have knowledge of that he did not?_

_Bridget frowned. "To care for other people besides yourself."_

_That made him actually laugh. "I have no reason to," he sneered. _

"_You're used to people treating you like you're just a machine," Bridget replied, calmly. She learned quickly to evade his baiting. "Prove to me that you're not."_

_Karr hesitated. Even though he despised her, the child's words stilled him. "And how am I to do that?" he asked slowly._

"_A little trust could do wonders," she said, grinning ear to ear._

Although he would never admit it to her, Bridget had not been incorrect about her philosophy. When he finally trusted Micky to do the new wiring system, it worked out surprisingly well. The idea of humans actually being of some use to him was unexpected. He did not trust them openly, but concerning his general care, he could not help but give the children some credit.

"We aren't going to force you," Bridget added.

"I am programmed for self-preservation," Karr repeated coolly. "It goes against my being to allow this."

Both teenagers looked at each other, unsure. Karr would have scowled had he a mouth. There were no simulations or problem solving techniques that could easily get him through this. He did not want to trust humans, but he knew he had to; he needed to adapt or die.

"But I am no machine," he said quietly.

Bridget's eyes widened and Micky actually looked surprised. Then, Karr saw the usual grin worm its way back on his hostess' face.

"By God, the man _can_ be taught!" she crowed. She slapped her knee, grinning brightly. "Only took you five years to figure that out, buddy."

Karr growled. Bridget made a face back at him. Rolling his eyes, Micky picked up what looked like a schematic of the car from his workbench.

"I could follow the original schematic well enough to be able to create this custom one," he said, holding up the blueprint. "Your old engine—turbine, isn't it?—seems to still work. I based the inner workings heavily on your previous form and plan on integrating the working remains of the old TransAm into this new body, Karr, so hopefully this will make the transition easier."

"I will be fully surprised if you manage to do the job remotely well," Karr replied darkly. His box-like body seemed to shudder. "My energy store is depleted. I need to hook up again."

"Gotcha covered," Micky said. He walked over to a milk crate on one of the metal shelves and pulled out a long, black extension cord. "It was about time for a change anyway."

As Micky took pliers and the cord to Karr's side, Bridget stared quizzically at the AI.

"What?" Karr finally asked, annoyed by her staring.

"I just can't imagine you as a talking car," she said.

Karr growled. "You seem to handle a talking box relatively well."

"Can you move the car on your own?"

"Yes. I am self-roving, but that can be overridden by manual controls." Karr suddenly winced. He did NOT just admit that to the child…

Bridget grinned, enjoying that bit of information. "So, I'm going to have a completely automated sexy new Mustang for a car?" she joked.

"I am not yours!" snapped Karr. He flinched inwardly as Micky tampered with his sensitive wiring before continuing. "You will be lucky if I don't run you down!"

"So, you've got a turbine engine?" interrupted Micky, stopping the fight before it escalated.

Karr replied neutrally, "I was previously outfitted with the Knight Industries turbojet model with modified afterburners."

"Wow, super-science," murmured Bridget sarcastically.

"I bet you go real fast with one of those," Micky said, grinning up at Karr.

"Using the boosters, I can reach from zero to sixty miles per hour in point four seconds with power boosters," Karr replied, somewhat smug.

Both teenagers stared at him with wide eyes and dropped jaws. "_Whoa_!"

"Damn, I am so not going to be able to put you back to your former glory," Micky said, standing back. He frowned deeply. "Are you sure there is no one else capable of doing this?"

"…no," Karr said. There were others, but at least he knew Micky wasn't about to deactivate him with his back turned.

"Are you sure? I don't want to mess you up."

"You will not," Karr said neutrally. The underlining threat in his voice made both boy and girl grin again.

Shaking his head, Micky stared at the AI. "And what about your transmission?"

"All transmission accessories, including the 8-speed microprocessor turbodrive with auto pilot, are currently located in or around my CPU," Karr stated. That was one thing they did not have to worry about.

"And this whole thing you're in now is your voice box?"

"My visual voice modulator. It is stationed in the center of the dashboard inside the vehicle. The various function buttons are located on my frame now as well."

Bridget scratched her head. "What kind of fuel do you need?" she asked. Of course _she_ wanted to know—she'd be the one stuck finding the substance.

Karr hesitated. "I require a hydrogen based fuel to accommodate the turbo engine thrusters."

The girl's face dropped. "_HYDROGEN_?"

"But you can function on regular petroleum gasoline, right?" Micky quickly interjected. "Without the thrusters?"

"Yes," Karr replied.

Bridget glared at the AI. "You had better," she grumbled. "What kind of car runs on hydrogen based fuel?"

"The prototype of the car of the future," Karr replied dryly.

"Shut your mouth, I was being sarcastic."

"I have no mouth to shut—"

"THAT WAS SARCASM, TOO!"

Rolling his eyes, Micky walked back over to the pile of old TransAm parts. "Okay, engine, break system, some weird cables I have no idea what they are…technically we should be able to connect them all to your CPU, right?" he asked, looking back at the AI.

"That is correct."

"You have to guide me," Micky warned.

Karr growled. "I will do nothing less," he vowed. As much as he reluctantly trusted the child, he did not put it past their luck that something would go wrong.

"Say," Bridget began. "If you're the 'car of the future', what else can you do?"

"In the _past_," corrected Karr. "I had multiple functions. Auto-cruise, auto-pursuit, auto-collision avoidance, and emergency ejection seats." Karr briefly felt smug satisfaction at the sight of Bridget's shocked face. "The Knight Industries microprocessor, or my CPU, is equipped with vocal functions which I am currently using to communicate. I had complete audio and video in-dash surveillance capabilities, including radar, sonar and x-ray visions."

"Damn!" whispered Bridget.

"I am sooo not going to be able to do this," Micky moaned, dropping his head down onto the table.

Karr sighed despite himself. "Do not bother with those additional functions. I only require the basics." He could risk the other things later—he just wanted a body. _Now_.

"Good," murmured Micky.

Bridget groaned and arched her back as she stretched. "So, we gonna get this started?" she asked.

"It will take much time to do this properly," Karr replied calmly.

"Hey, school's winding down," Bridget said, smiling. She patted Karr's CPU box comfortingly. "In a month, it'll be summer, so we have all of then to wrap this up."

Karr paused. "Don't you have soccer camp in July?" he asked tensely.

"Um. Yes."

Bridget must have felt the AI staring at her and she fidgeted nervously.

"Don't worry. I'm sure my mom won't care if I don't go," she added, smiling weakly. "I'll tell her I'm too old for it."

"And then we're all going to have to listen to her rant and rave for weeks over it."

"Do you want a body or not, Karr?" Bridget snapped. She wagged her finger at him. "Me and Micky are going to be sacrificing a lot for your sake and we already have, so the least you can do is trust us!"

"What do you think I'm doing by allowing you to even suggest it?" Karr shot back angrily.

"Why do you always have to complain about everything?"

"Because I have to put up with idiots like you!"

Micky rolled his eyes, and knowing that it would be a long couple of months, began to assemble his tools.

**00000**

"I want to know what FLAG is up to."

The luxurious curtains that hung from the ceiling-to-floor windows blocked any and all light from entering the room. With the overhead lights out and only the luminescent glow of the exotic fish tank in the corner, the whole office was more like a tomb. The darkness did not seem to bother the two occupants of the room—one tall and thin, the other shorter and more muscular. The tall man was standing in front of the fish tank, watching the blue hippo tangs and the maroon and white striped clown fish swim. The shorter man was sitting on one of the rich chairs, legs hanging off the side of one of the arm rests improperly.

"All the time," the tall man continued. He seemed agitated, but also arrogant. He waved his hand snobbishly. "Wherever Knight is, I want a constant feedback. I don't trust them. Devon is a loose canon. Neither of them can be trusted."

"The Knight Industries Two Thousand is supposed to be tough to fool," the shorter man replied as he leaned back into his chair lazily.

The tall man shook as he chuckled. The sound seemed menacing. "Oh, but why don't I worry about the prototype?" he prompted.

The shorter man smirked. "Because you got the finished model all lined up."

"Exactly, Mr. Schultz. Exactly."

Mr. Schultz only grinned. The tall man traced his bony fingers over the tank glass.

"Can I trust you to be ready when they arrive?"

"Of course, Mr. Lanski, of course."

* * *

Whoo! Let the BSing through technical stuff begin!


	6. 05 Routine Thoughts

Wow, thank you for all of the reviews! Sorry this took so long. It's actually really short, too. Work on Karr continues and then Kitt and Michael FINALLY head back to Knight HQ. Please note I made a time change in the previous chapter: the current month in the story is May, so they only have a month until vacation starts. Sorry for the confusion!

And thanks KARR5000, for all of the tech specs you've told me. I feel silly about the mistakes I made, but keep reminding me if I make any more! Thanks!

**Warnings** and** Disclaimer** in the beginning!

* * *

For the first few days, Karr observed the children move, re-arrange and record each piece of his old shell. He told them what each was, where it went inside a vehicle and what it did. Micky already knew a lot about the general parts and how to handle them, but some of the more advanced technologies, like the alpha circuit or the anamorphic scanner, had to be carefully explained to him by Karr. The AI was not used to speaking so much, but he knew his involvement in the project was a necessity and his attention would not be diverted away.

"Ugh! What is this?" Bridget suddenly exclaimed. She was holding up a greasy and rusted pipe.

"That would be an exhaust pipe," Micky replied, almost completely bent over inside the Mustang's engine area. He did not bother to look up from the transfer vehicle.

"Man, I got grease all over my pants from it!"

Karr growled. "If you're just going to whine, go home alone." The idea of going back to that horrid bedroom himself was out of the question now. He did not like Micky's garage, but it was a nice change of scenery after seven years of the same four walls.

Shaking her head, Bridget replied, "I am not whining. I'm complaining. There's a difference."

"Well, you do it too often. Stop talking," he ordered.

"Excuse me?"

"Just. Stop."

Bridget stared at Karr, mouth agog at his cold and shunning remark, and Micky took his opportunity to look up.

"Just who made you, Karr?" the boy asked. He and Bridget had exchanged hypothesizes about that topic on various occasions, but never had bothered to ask Karr himself. Now seemed like a good time.

An icy silence fell over the room as soon as Micky's words sunk in. Karr did not speak and Bridget could tell from natural instinct that the AI was glaring at them with his worst, most potent glare. A shiver ran up her spine. Looking over, she and Micky exchanged wary glances.

"Karr?" ventured Micky.

In a sudden abruptness, Karr snapped, "That doesn't concern you." He sounded angry, and, to Bridget's astonishment, slightly on edge. His usual collective calmness was gone. It was unsettling.

Micky frowned. "I'm sorry," he said, honesty in his voice. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Then stop asking pointless questions and focus on working," Karr snarled.

"Someone's cranky," Bridget commented, frowning.

Karr said nothing back. Her frown deepening, Bridget set down the pipe in the junk pile and walked over to him. She bent her knees so that she came face to face with the AI. She did this often when she wanted to talk about serious matters—whenever they happened. Karr did not like it when she did. Her eyes were much too intense for his liking and it made him feel uncomfortable while under her gaze.

"What?" he demanded angrily. He inched away internally in his CPU.

"Are you okay?" she asked simply.

She asked in a quiet voice, knowing full well that Karr did not like concern thrown his way in front of others. Micky worked on without looking up at them, though Karr was not sure if he was listening or not. The boy seemed to respect his space well enough, but this was not an opportune moment to have conversation with Bridget when she was in her "concerned" mode.

"I am functional," Karr replied neutrally.

"Don't give me that. Seriously, are you okay?"

There was always something about her tone that disturbed Karr. She could be so absent-minded and utterly human, it would disgust him. But sometimes, her thinking was deeper than her adolescent form let on. Her eyes were dull gray when she was her normal self, but once she became concerned or began to think too deeply, they'd become so deep, it boggled Karr's processor. The ability of expression that humans had was disturbing.

"I am fine," he replied evenly, hoping his tone would signify he wanted the conversation to stop.

Bridget frowned again. "You don't sound okay."

"Then you are hearing me wrong. Just get back to work."

Not deterred, Bridget leaned closer. "We didn't mean to pry," she whispered at his comfort level. She furrowed her brow. "The topic is dropped, okay? No more asking about it. I promise."

Bridget had a thing about promises that Karr noticed early on in their relationship. She did not just carelessly make them or believe in them; she was as cynical as they came, almost as bad as he was. She had, of course, promised to get him a body and had come through with it. Her promises could be, at in the least sense, trusted to be kept.

"You okay with that?" Bridget asked. She was completely serious. Karr grumbled internally, but kept up a straight front—or as straight of a front talking box could muster.

"I'm fine. With it," he replied evenly.

Bridget stared at the AI for a moment, as if trying to gauge his true intentions. Karr could smugly admit that as much as she tried, she could not accurately guess his thoughts. She, on the other hand, was an open book. Karr exploited that when he needed and it was one of the few satisfactions in his menial existence to not have to share the same with her.

"Okay," she finally muttered, standing upright. She gave the AI a pat on the top of the box, ignored the low indignant growl that he let out and turned back to work. Micky had already given up communicating to either of them. Bridget's promise, as simple as it was, came true.

Karr watched his guardian and her friend work for quite a bit longer. They worked in continued silence. It wasn't deafening and Karr felt relaxed in it. He despised the days of sitting around and nothing concise happening. Apparently Bridget and Micky had been working this whole time on the project, but now he himself could witness its construction. They were a long ways off from completion, but it was a start. He could handle staring at the cement walls until then. He could handle this silence.

_With luck, that wait won't be for very long anyway_, he added to himself, with an unusual streak of hopefulness. Overhead, the ticking of a large clock mounted on the wall seemed to keep rhythm of their progress and Karr let it sync with his processors. Then, he continued his subtle vigil.

**00000**

The Knight estate was located in a far off section of the state, where trees encompassed nearly every side, in addition to a lake and other natural boundaries. It was secluded in the middle of a natural display of beauty. The house was donated to FLAG soon after Wilton Knight's death and from it, Devon Miles operated the organization. It was this estate that Michael Knight and his intelligent car called "home base," where Bonnie would meet them for repairs if not in the FLAG mobile unit and where the crime fighting pair could relax in security. As of that late day in May, however, neither machine nor man felt safe pulling up past the front gate.

"Who was that?" Michael asked, after they made it passed clearance. Usually they could just pull right up and the familiar guard would just wave them on. A new man was on duty, however, and they had to pull out their identification as though they were suddenly new faces on the premises.

"I don't know," Kitt replied, also surprised. "I just looked up FLAG's employee list. It says they've been acquiring new help very recently."

"Where'd the old guard, Herman I think his name was, go?"

"It says he was replaced by that new man."

"Jeez, what the heck is going on?" Michael muttered darkly. "First Devon acts like he's got the world falling in on him and now FLAG's dropping perfectly good employees? Are they going through a mid-life crisis or something?"

Kitt made a sound that resembled a sigh. "I don't know, Michael. We'll find out today, though."

Michael had mourned the previous morning when they realized their vacation was up and they had to return. Kitt had threatened to call Bonnie if his driver did not get his rear in gear and with much grumbling, Michael gave in. The ride back to upstate was a quiet one, more so than usual. Both had been extremely suspicious of Devon's behavior. Records on the new chairman had been scarce and the only odd thing about this Lanski fellow was that he was Wilton Knight's nephew.

"If this turns into another Garth incident, I swear, I'm resigning," Michael grumbled as he pulled onto a branch of the driveway that led to the labs.

"Lanski seems more interested in the business aspect of the Industries, Michael," Kitt replied.

"You never know."

"And if you resign, where would that leave me?"

"Buddy, if I leave, you're coming _with_ me," Michael laughed as they turned slowly around a bend.

Kitt fell silent, as if thinking that comment over. "I don't think that would get past Devon," he finally said, though Michael could hear a faint sound of thankfulness in his voice.

Michael smiled. "Ahh, since when does his opinion count?" he jested.

"Apparently a lot of the time."

The two joked until they reached the hanger. They pulled in and Michael waved to some of the workers he knew. At least the majority of the workers were not replaced, he noted.

Inside the hanger, the room looked like an ordinary garage. Nothing overly high-tech or ornate was present to suggest that this was a testing area where the most advanced technology the world had seen yet was tested, Kitt included. Michael first met his partner here and often had to return to get the AI patched up.

Kitt came to a stop towards the back of the hanger. Michael let his friend put himself in park and took off his sunglasses. He tucked them under the sun visor and with a grunt, opened the car door.

"Oh, Michael, Kitt!"

Michael, half out of the car, looked up. He forced himself to smile pleasantly at the sight of Kitt's chief engineer and a mutual friend coming down the stairs that led up to the second level of the warehouse. It wasn't as though he disliked Bonnie Barstow—it was just that her arrival was the final thing pinning him and his car from escaping whatever mess awaited them here.

"Bonnie," he said with friendly effort, shutting the door behind him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, Michael," Bonnie replied cheerfully as she stepped up to him. She seemed a lot more cheerful than she had when she had been talking on the phone. Michael was inwardly relieved. Looking around him, Bonnie spotted Kitt and brightened even more. "There you are, Kitt!"

"Hello, Bonnie," Kitt replied, an invisible smile in his voice that always made Michael smile to hear. It was so easy to forget that his partner was not human—or at least not human in body.

"Have a nice trip?" Bonnie asked, looking back up at Michael.

Michael shrugged. "It was good," he said. He sighed heavily. "Ended too soon, though."

"You always say that," the engineer said, rolling her eyes.

"And I mean it. Every time."

Bonnie slapped his arm in jest and pushed past him to get to Kitt. "I trust you two didn't do anything too destructive," she said.

"Oh, no, we were good this time," Kitt replied. "Of course, Michael wanted me to get onto the beach, but heaven knows what that sand could have done to my internal gears."

Bonnie laughed and nodded. "Good idea," she said, throwing Michael a look.

"Hey!" Michael cried. "What's that for?"

"You always find some way to get Kitt damaged."

"I do not!"

"Actually," Kitt started to say, but his driver cut him off with an exasperated cry.

"Who's side are you on, anyway?" Michael demanded, pretending to be angry. Bonnie sighed and tapped him on his arm again.

"Devon wants to talk to us both," she said, nodding towards the hanger exit. "Kitt's examination can start later in the week."

"Oh?" Michael asked, surprised. "I thought you said it had to do be done ASAP."

"Yes, well, it turns out that the appointment was pushed back a few days." She stopped and made a face. "The new chairman said he wanted to meet you and Kitt first."

Michael quickly caught on to her tone. She had used it to describe him early on in his career; she was not too fond of this chairman. Devon didn't seem to happy either and suddenly, Michael found himself distrusting _whoever_ this guy was, if he ever got a chance to meet the man. He refrained from too many questions now, though. His short-lived career as a cop had taught him that certain questions had certain moments to be asked. For now, he decided as he looked between his car and Bonnie, he would stick to talking to his allies.

"Well, best not keep Devon waiting," Michael said, putting his hands in his pockets and shifting on his legs slightly. "He seemed kinda antsy on the phone."

Bonnie nodded and smiled tiredly. "He should be in his office. Follow me." She turned and started towards the exit.

"Sure," he replied. He looked back at the TransAm and waved. "See ya later, pal." He went to walk away towards Bonnie's departing figure.

But Kitt didn't answer. Michael stopped, turned and stared at his car. The AI seemed unnaturally still, even while it was parked. He knew well enough that Kitt had picked up on something, or was thinking very hard.

"Buddy?" he called. "You okay?"

"It's strange," Kitt finally said. His usually calm voice sounded uneasy. "It seems like I'm picking up some sort of echo in here."

"Echo?"

"A feedback of some sort. It's new, but a singular transmission pattern."

Michael stared at the AI blankly. Kitt made a sighing sound. "It's like a one-way street. I can pick it up, but cannot trace or examine it further."

"Oh," Michael said, scratching his chin. He shrugged. "With all of the surprises Wilton has lying around here, are you that surprised you'd pick up something?"

"True," Kitt replied, seeming to take this as a solution. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't anything to worry about. Go ahead and speak with Devon."

"You gonna be okay?" Michael asked. He felt a little silly asking his artificially intelligent car that question; Kitt was always more prepared than he was. Something in the air, alien signals besides, made him uncomfortable. Hell, he hadn't felt comfortable in a week and he did not like it at all.

"Yes, Michael."

He couldn't help but ask. "…you think this is gonna work out?" Michael tried to sound easy going about it.

For the decade they had been working together, Michael knew Kitt and Kitt knew Michael. While Michael knew that the AI was still just a robot, he could not help but think that the car showed emotions, evenly subtly. At the moment, Kitt seemed to tense with hidden anxiousness. "I certainly hope so."

Michael grimaced and just patted the top of the TransAm in silent reassurance.

* * *

Wow, did anyone notice how I totally made up the whole Knight estate thing? XD Well, I based a lot of it off of what was seen in the first episode, so don't kill me if I'm wrong.

And is anyone else totally pumped for the two hour _Knight Rider_ special on the 17th:D I am! …Of course if they make a new series, that would make this story obsolete. Darn it. _Que sera, sera_, I guess...I wonder if they'll have Karr in the new series? We should start a petition to have him come back some how. That'd make the new show so worth watching...

**A/Ns**  
-This was really a "character building" chapter. Not much action. Sorry! It'll be here soon, I swear!  
-Kitt needs a hug. Or is going to need one. Soon.


	7. 06 Lanski

I'm sorry I took so long with this! I've been extremely busy with schoolwork and real life. Yes, even during the summer :( I am _so _sorry!

Totally Michael/Bonnie/Devon time. Plot building! Michael finally gets his talk with Devon and learns some unsettling things.

On the brighter side, who's excited for September 24th? :D

**Warnings** and **Disclaimers **at the beginning of this story.

* * *

Every time he walked into that rich and meticulously clean office, Michael felt he was back in school, walking into the principal's office. He hadn't been an overly disruptive child, but the few trips he did earn lasted in his mind. It was that feeling of being in trouble and having to stare into the face of the principal himself. Devon Miles wasn't that intimidating—(in fact, not at all)—but the essence of Wilton Knight seemed to hang around the old furniture and the mahogany desk by the window. _That_ did put Michael on edge as he walked silently next to Bonnie, coming to a stop in front of the desk, Devon Miles looking up from some apparent paperwork as they approached.

"Ah, Michael!" said Devon. He smiled and stood, reaching across the table to clasp Michael's arm affectionately. "I take it your trip back was pleasant?"

Michael smiled back thinly. "Do you have to ask?" he asked as they pulled away from each other.

Devon laughed. "I suppose not," he said, shaking his head. He sat down again in the chair and exhaled in a getting-down-to-business type of way. "Let us cut to the chase, shall we? There's been enough dancing around the subject, and if I know you Michael, and I _know_ I do, you are getting tired of this all."

"Took the words right outta my mouth, Devon," agreed Michael. He frowned. "I get that this Lanski guy is the new head chairman of Knight's Industries, so that means he's the boss. What I don't understand is why you're acting like this is such a big catastrophe."

"Lanski is more than just the head chairman," replied Bonnie. She crossed her arms against her chest. She looked oddly out of place in her blue jumpsuit in the middle of Devon's office. "He is Wilton Knight's nephew."

"Oh," said Michael, suddenly feeling a nasty sensation of déjà vu.

"That said, he's got the support of the committee," she continued.

"So…"

"What he says will happen," supplied Devon calmly. "Normally, I wouldn't care about this such thing. He is certainly not like Jennifer Knight was, out for revenge or anything of that kind of thing."

Michael made a face. "Speaking of her," he began, "what ever happened to her?"

"Oh, she's our ambassador to the United Kingdom, currently. She was never in control of Knight Industries, Michael, just the Foundation," replied Devon, waving his hand. "In any matter, Dennis Lanski stepped up to become the head chairman by popular vote just two years ago. He has not tried to do anything negative with the company and has not even mentioned you or Kitt."

"Then, why are you suddenly up in arms about this guy?" asked Michael, confused.

Devon frowned grimly. "Quite out of the blue last month, he approached me with concerns about Kitt's annual inspection," he said, tapping his finger nervously on the arm of his chair. "He presented me with a list of important things to check out concerning Kitt's CPU."

"CPU?" repeated Michael.

"His computer," replied Bonnie, smirking slightly.

Michael sent her a dark look. "I know what it is," he snapped. Ten years of watching over his AI buddy kind of made him responsible to learn about what made him tick. He looked back at Devon. "Why his CPU? These check ups are for his body work and basic systems, not his brain."

"I asked him the very same questions," Devon replied. He sighed wearily. "He was very ambiguous about what he wanted and why now, of all times. I immediately sent the request to Bonnie."

Bonnie shook her head slowly. "Everything he's asking for is like a psychological examination," she said. She sounded confused. "Why would he even care about Kitt's mental state?"

"Are you sure that's what he wants to know about?" asked Michael, darkly.

Bonnie shrugged. "I wouldn't know," she said.

Michael frowned, uncomfortable. He moved to the side of the desk, looking deep in thought as he mulled over what they had told him. He stopped at the bookshelves, troubled.

"So, when's the inspection?" asked Michael finally, frowning.

Devon sighed. "I'm not sure," he said. "Mr. Lanski has expressed his deepest desire to speak with you and Kitt beforehand. He's arriving tomorrow and asked to meet with you two for lunch."

"Aw, he's taking us to lunch," commented Michael, smiling. He leaned back into the bookcase with apparent calmness. "I hope he realizes Kitt can't go inside restaurants. That'd be a little problem."

"You'll be eating down in the gardens," replied Devon sharply, not appreciating the other man's indifferent behavior. "Really, Michael, this very serious."

"Well, no one's telling me _why_ it's so serious," replied Michael, narrowing his eyes at his boss. "Can't you just tell him to shove off, that he doesn't have a say in what FLAG does?"

"Dennis Lanski is the _head chairman_ of the Knight Industries, Michael," said Devon quickly and sharply. "He has a lot of influence over the other members like we said, and if given reason, he could persuade the board to pull the funding on FLAG."

"And?" drawled Michael.

Bonnie frowned at him. "That means, Kitt's care would be dropped," she replied. "He could take him away from us."

Michael froze. "Not if I can help it," he said coolly. "Kitt belongs with us, his friends." His family.

"Yes, but according to the papers, he is owned by Knight Industries, and partially, by Dennis Lanski. The two organizations are infinitely tied together, Michael," Devon replied. He sighed heavily and leaned into his chair. "I've known Lanski for quite some time, and he has always had an interest in the science end of things about Kitt, but all of a sudden, he has shown a remarkable interest in the marketing benefits."

Both Michael and Bonnie stared at Devon hard. "Marketing benefits?" repeated Michael, wary. "What are you talking about?"

"The military has shown interest in using artificial intelligence for drones to send into war zones. Knight Industries is the most advanced in artificial cybernetics, so Lanski is very adamant about doing business with the military."

Michael stood up straight, anger in his eyes. He pointed at the south wall, in direction of the lab. "Kitt's not some war machine!" he shouted.

"His programming is about defending, not attacking!" added Bonnie, also livid.

"It's not Kitt that Lanski wishes to send!" said Devon loudly, holding his hands up in a peacekeeping gesture. He winced painfully. "Believe me, if that were the case, I would be as angry as you are."

"Then, what does he want with Kitt?" demanded Michael.

"He wants to see if the technology is Kitt would be easy to manipulate to produce a new line of AI," replied Devon. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's all I know, at least. I'm sure that they would not be as advanced as Kitt is concerning his personality or intelligence, but Lanski is still interested in using the technology."

"I doubt Wilton ever wanted his technology used in warfare," said Bonnie heatedly. She crossed her arms and glared at Devon. "Are you just letting Lanski go along with this? You're on the board!"

"I am certainly not sitting around eating bonbons, if that's what you're suggesting," Devon replied, frowning back at her. "I am trying to find some legal way to halt Lanski's movement towards mass production of the AIs, but he's found a loop hole. He is going to sell them as defensive machinery, such as for reconnaissance missions and such. Wilton forbade the construction of offensive weapons, but there is nothing to deny the creation of defensive ones."

"That's crazy," growled Michael.

"Yes, but at the moment, there is little I can do about it," said Devon. He sighed again and wilted back into his chair. He folded his hands and stared intently at the younger couple in front of him. "The best way you can get Lanski out of your hair would be to just comply to any request he makes concerning a test or review. The data he would retrieve from those tests would either differ or prompt him to continue in pursing a new line of AIs to sell to the government."

"You're telling me to let him walk all over us?" demanded Michael, angry.

Devon shot him a dark look. "Call it what you will. Believe it or not, Michael, sometimes the best method of winning against an enemy is not strength or firepower; it's patience."

Michael scowled, but didn't say anything further. The tension in the office was stifling.

Devon sighed. "It's been nearly ten years, however," he continued, "so with luck, Kitt's technology will be considered too outdated to consider using."

Michael's frown deepened. "Outdated?" he repeated. He sniffed indignantly. "Kitt's not outdated!"

"You know what I mean," said Devon sharply. "The time has come for you to learn the expression 'bite the bullet.' If you can bare sitting through the meeting and work out some agreement concerning the check-up, consider it your next mission."

"A mission about listening to some guy treating my pal like a pile of computer parts?" demanded Michael.

"And you will persevere," continued Devon without stopping. His frown deepened. "Understood?"

There was no request or suggestion in Devon's voice; it was a clear order. And Michael _hated_ orders. But after so many years of arguing and butting heads with Devon and his orders, Michael knew that sometimes the older man was occasionally right. Okay, more than occasionally. His stomach twisting with nerves and frustration, Michael

Michael scowled darkly. "Yeah. Clear as crystal," he grumbled. But he certainly didn't have to like it. Not one bit.

"Good," Devon replied. His entire body seemed to sink in on itself with relief and he sighed softly. Massaging his eyes, he continued to say, "I truly am sorry for all of this nonsense, Michael. Please extend my apologies to Kitt as well."

"Will do," said Michael, still irked.

Bonnie shot him a reprimanding look. "It really isn't your fault, Devon," she said sympathetically.

"I still feel responsible in a way," their boss replied wearily. He smiled, though, and the action seemed to lighten the depressing atmosphere. "But thank you, Bonnie."

"Do me a favor, Devon, and go out or something," said Michael suddenly. He waved his hand, looking indifferent. "You look like you need some time off yourself."

Devon laughed. "Thank you, Michael, I'll try to remember to fit a break in somewhere."

While stiff and sometimes overly proper, Devon was a good guy and Michael knew it. He smiled slightly, feeling burning shame in his gut. What had he been thinking? Devon was always looking out for their best interests. He was an ally. He wasn't the one responsible for this crazy Lanski's nosing around.

"I think I'll go tell Kitt about all this now," announced Michael, tucking his hands into his front pockets again, trying to look and sound as casual as usual.

"I'll try to limit the damage," added Bonnie. Of course she would come along. Kitt was like her child; she cared for his health as if he was biologically related to her.

Devon nodded, wordlessly telling them it was okay to leave. "I'll see you around the compound later," he said.

Bidding him goodbye, Bonnie and Michael left the room, leaving Devon at his desk. As he left, Michael could not help but feel uneasy at the sight of the older man behind the mahogany desk. Devon was looking older by the day…

"Kitt's not going to like this at all," he grumbled as they walked towards the elevator, trying to distract himself.

Bonnie bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't like it very much either," she replied, pressing the button. They stood, waiting for the doors to open.

Michael sighed. "I don't think Wilton imagined any of this happening," he said.

"I guess that means we'll just have to make sure his dreams don't get totally destroyed," replied Bonnie, holding her head high. She glanced up at him and smirked in a self-reassuring way.

Michael smirked back.

**00000**

For once, Michael's prediction came true; Kitt was not happy.

"They want to _what_?" the AI exclaimed.

"See if your technology is not too out-dated to use in a non-offensive drone project to sell to the military," replied Bonnie.

Kitt almost sputtered in shock. "That's absurd!"

"Tell me about it," replied Michael.

At eight o'clock, all the lab workers went home. Michael had his own room to stay in at the mansion, which was always available to him since his first stay at the Knight Estates. Bonnie was staying the night to further investigate who Lanski was and to prepare Kitt for the experience. So far, the computer records on the chairman weren't telling them anything suspicious. Lanski was just a man, it seemed. That did not put their worry to rest, however.

"Why, I am programmed to protect human life, not harm it," continued Kitt, thoroughly upset. He was parked next to the two humans, who regarded him carefully. "Doesn't this man know that?"

"Apparently. He's using the idea of defensive drones to cover up the fact that they could easily be used as offensive," replied Bonnie sourly. She crossed her arms tightly against her chest. "Kitt, I know it seems absurd, but we can't get around it. The best method to getting this whole thing over with is to just grin and bear it. If Lanski comes around again afterwards, _then_ we start to fight this craziness."

"Why not fight now?" demanded Michael. He leaned against Kitt's prow. "Why just sit and take it? If I have my way, we just tell the guy off tomorrow at this meeting."

"If you had your way, Michael, we'd be in World War III by now," said Bonnie darkly. She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, Kitt. I'm going to be there during any examination, no matter what Lanski decides. If there's anything fishy about the procedure, I'll call it off immediately."

"Thank you, Bonnie," said Kitt, sounding truly thankful.

"I still don't like it," grumbled Michael.

"You know what they say about people wanting ice water," retorted Bonnie calmly. She shook her head again. "Let Miles handle Lanski, and let me handle the exam. You and Kitt help each other."

"It's not like its surgery," replied Kitt. There was a nervous edge to his voice that did not escape the notice of the two humans.

Michael couldn't help but grin. The action was supposed to cheer the AI up. "Hey," the driver said cheerily, "if there are any damages, you can sue for malpractice."

"I think that would go over just as well as filing for divorce and getting custody of myself," Kitt replied dryly. The tremor in his voice disappeared though and Michael's smile widened.

"Well, don't worry too much about it, pal," he said, patting the hood. "I've got your back."

"That's supposed to be reassuring?" the AI asked teasingly.

Michael scowled and Bonnie laughed. "Good old Kitt," said Bonnie, grinning. She patted Kitt's hood gently. "I have to go get some papers ready for tomorrow. Good night, guys."

"I'll come with you," said Michael, getting up off of Kitt. He gave the AI a quick smile. "Be right back."

"I'll be here," replied Kitt, waiting patiently in his spot as the two walked off to the closed office.

Bonnie's office was right off of the main hanger. Michael closed the door behind him and looked around the room, which had not changed much in the last few years. Bonnie did her research here, but while on the road, Michael saw most her in the Knight mobile unit whenever she had to make emergency repairs on Kitt. Not that it happened often, he added smugly. He and Kitt rarely ran into trouble. Or at least trouble to speak of later.

Okay, he was pushing it with that, but he let the mental conflict drop. He had to focus on reality.

"So," he began with a large sigh after Bonnie shut the door to the office, "what's on your mind, Bonnie?"

"On my mind?" echoed Bonnie, laughing hesitantly.

"Come on, Bon, you're like a picture book when it comes to reading you," replied Michael, shaking his head. He leaned against one of the desks that lined the walls of the office. "Lemme guess. Getting cold feet?"

"Cold feet's not quite the right word," said Bonnie, frowning slightly. She turned away and appeared to become focused with straightening a line of text books.

Michael watched her silently. He knew she wasn't done talking. Something was on her mind and although he'd never admit it to her (or Kitt because the said car would undoubtedly tell his mechanic anyway), but Bonnie's opinion was something Michael always weighed into his decisions. If she was questioning something, he had to question it as well.

After a minute passed, Bonnie still had said nothing. Michael had learned to be patient over the last decade, as much as everyone seemed to deny it, so he had no problem waiting for Bonnie to be honest. To distract himself, Michael began to flick stray bolts around on the surface of the desk. The tinkering of the metal filled the air of the office and finally, Bonnie turned around. There was worry etched into her face and eyes.

"I'm worried," she finally said.

"I noticed," commented Michael.

"Seriously."

Michael nodded. "I know. I'm a bit nervous too, but we should trust Devon, right? It can't be all that bad if he's letting it happen."

"I'm more worried about what this inspection might include," said Bonnie, folding her arms against her chest with a grim frown.

Michael paused as he played with the pieces of metal on the counter. "What do you mean? It's just a psyche-exam."

"It's more complicated than that, if it concerns his CPU," replied Bonnie darkly. She gestured morosely. "His CPU isn't a calculator by any means. It's his brain, his mind, the real Kitt. Lanski never specified what the test would include. If it's a hands-on procedure, where I have to actually tamper with his CPU…if I mess up…or whoever does the inspection messes up…"

She stopped. Michael looked over slowly at her. Bonnie caught his eye and both stared at each other, uneasy.

"This could be very, very dangerous, if that's the case," she finally said.

"Kitt and I trust you," said Michael automatically. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, comfortingly. "Don't worry, Bon. We know you can do this, if you are in charge this time."

Bonnie looked away. "I wouldn't be able to bear it if something did went wrong."

Michael frowned and let her go. "Nothing will go wrong," he assured her. He returned to playing with the metal on the table, taking on an indifferent air.

"You two care a lot about each other," said Bonnie softly.

Michael twirled the bolt on the table's surface and frowned. "Yeah," he replied. He didn't have much to deny it with. Kitt was his pal, his buddy. Kitt always told him that he was designed to protect Michael, but sometimes, Michael got the feeling that that loyalty was not bred simply from programming. Something in his gut told him differently.

"I'm supervising it, even if I can't actually perform the testing" said Bonnie with firmness. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder slightly. "And we may just be overreacting.

"Overreacting or not, Lanski is completely insane," replied Michael darkly. "Selling to the military? That's…"

"Crazy?" offered Bonnie dryly.

Michael scowled again. "Why is everyone related to Wilton Knight insane?" he grumbled, almost as an after thought.

Bonnie smirked. "I don't know. You did take his name, so that explains what happened to you."

Michael shot her a dark glare and threw the bolt at her playfully, which Bonnie skillfully ducked. She laughed and Michael had to chuckle.

"What are we going to do, seriously?" he asked.

Bonnie hesitated. "You're the one who usually comes up with the plans," she said.

"You've got a big brain, sweetheart. We kinda need it," replied Michael cheekily.

With a sigh, Bonnie leaned against the table, arms pressed against her chest. "What we _need_ is a lot of luck," she said. She held up two crossed fingers and frowned wearily. "That may be our only chance here."

"Luckily," Michael replied with ease that did not reveal his own internal doubts, "we're pretty lucky."

Or just really good at faking it.

* * *

We'll go back to Karr and the kids next chapter. :) Karr gets another lesson in morality.

1. …do you think there'd be an elevator in the mansion? Wilton needed a wheelchair sometimes, so you would think…  
2. Bonnie is also very hard to write. I don't know as much about her as Michael or Kitt. Luckily I just got the first two seasons. Time to watch them hardcore!  
3. "You are about as much fun as a divorce, which is not a bad idea!" "I get custody of me!" Michael, KITT, S1E1 The best quote, EVER. After hearing it, I was hooked on the show. Dead serious. XD


	8. 07 Company Man

**A/N**: Sorry for the long wait again! School is just terrible and this chapter was being difficult. On the bright side, I have completely mapped out this story. There will be a total of forty-five chapters. Hopefully they will be coming your way much quicker than this…

In this chapter, the meeting with Lanski starts out as strained as Michael predicted and has surprising results. Then, Karr experiences more dreadfully human events that cause him to have very unorthodox thoughts…

Also, as a side note here…um…if you've been watching the new _Knight Rider_ series, I'm sure you've seen the latest episode. What have they done to Karr? I'm not sure if I like this change or not. It definitely makes this story un-canon now, but hey, I really don't care.

* * *

**Warnings** and **Disclaimer** at the beginning.

.

* * *

_Knight Estates_

"How do I look?"

"You look well, Michael. Do you not feel alright?"

"I meant, do I look professional, wise guy, not healthy."

Michael Knight was sitting inside Kitt as they made the slow winding turns around the Knight Estate. He was leaning toward the steering wheel, leaving the actually driving to his mechanical friend, and trying to look over his outfit in the tiny mirror overhead. Devon had warned him that Lanski was a lofty guy, but still valued professional attitude and attire. While Michael was in no real mood to humor Lanski now, he knew bringing out his dusty suit from the back of the closet would probably be his best bet to escape the day with his job.

Kitt was not a very good choice to ask an opinion of, of course. "You weren't specific, Michael," replied the AI, subtly cheeky. "In that matter, you look professional enough."

"Enough?" repeated Michael, half-listening as he adjusted his tie. A _tie_. He hadn't worn one since his own funeral.

"I would not recommend asking Bonnie for an opinion," said the AI.

Michael scoffed. "Sometimes I hate your sense of humor, Kitt," grouched the man, sitting back. He sighed heavily at his reflection. "Well, I didn't sign up for the job to look fancy, so this is as good as I get."

"Nicely put," said Kitt, wryly.

They drove up a small hill where a small cement drive way curled around a fountain. As they slowly went around the circle, Michael saw just a few yards away from the drive way was a separate cement circle, smaller and filled with a table, two chairs and a person. The beautiful array of trees and flowers around them were pleasing to observe, but Michael was focused solely on the tall man waiting at the separate circle.

The man wore a white suit with a red ascot tucked into his breast pocket. His yellow hair was combed over to one side, giving him a clean cut and a fresh look. His eyes were dark and his lips were thin. He was frail looking and pale, with an almost sick, fake complexion. Nevertheless, he smiled broadly as the TransAm slowed to a stop in front of him and the table. No one else was around.

"Mr. Knight!" exclaimed the man, who Michael knew was Lanski, spreading his arms as though welcoming an old friend. "And KITT! I am so pleased both of you were able to come."

Michael sighed once more before subtly patting the steering wheel and exiting the vehicle. Kitt turned off his engines cautiously.

"Come, sit," said Lanski, moving toward the table and chairs. He smiled and motioned toward the seat on the left side. "I've ordered us some tea and shortbread. Is there anything you would like?"

"Nah, that's all good," replied Michael coolly. He walked over and sat down in the chair. He watched as Lanski did the same. The latter still looked friendly and open.

"Now then," said Lanski, brisk but bright. He smiled at Michael across the table. "Devon has told me he's explain the situation to you, but I feel a one-on-one meeting may be more appropriate. The situation is delicate, so I don't want any misunderstandings between the two of us, Michael. Oh, may I call you Michael?"

"I like that better than Mr. Knight, so sure," replied Michael. He sat back in his chair, trying to appear as much at ease as possible. He had always found it easier to intimidate the business folk that way.

Lanski, however, did not seem put off by Michael's behavior. They chatted aimlessly for a few minutes until their food arrived with one of the waiters. It surprised Michael and Kitt both when Lanski included Kitt into the conversations, as though the AI were sitting with them at the table. The gesture, perhaps during a less bizarre place and time, would have been nice. Now, it was remotely creepy.

"In any matter," Lanski continued after the waiter left, lifting his teacup and waiting for it to cool slightly. "Without beating around the bush any longer; I've come to learn you have found my plans for the AI project to be distasteful. I'm sorry to hear that, Michael."

While the man remained outwardly friendly, Michael tensed at the sudden business-like attitude Lanski emitted. "Oh, you mean the project that would lend Kitt's AI science to the military?" asked Michael, feeling defensive. Yeah. He had been a bit put off by the idea. So had Kitt.

"If you'd prefer to say it that way," said Lanski with apparent disappointment. "All I mean to do is adapt the AI to suit the needs of the army—for defensive purposes only!" he added quickly, smiling as though he had caught Michael before he had a chance to complain. "I am well aware of my uncle's wishes, Michael. I would never wish to use his technology as offensive weaponry in the military. That would be a waste of his genius."

Michael's frown darkened. "I'm sure you've thought it out in your neat little planning, but did you remember to include the possibility that the Wilton's technology can be hacked and altered?" he asked, sitting up properly.

Lanski paused only minutely over his tea. "As you and Kitt have found out from experience, I'm told," he said conversationally before taking a sip.

Michael hesitated and instantly felt angry. Lanski was referring to several occasions. Kitt's CPU was a complicated thing, but some advanced science geeks like , could use it against them both. Those moments weren't the highlights of he and Kitt's relationship, but they certainly made their bond stronger. It pained Michael, however, to realize that there were some things he couldn't help his buddy in—or protect him from.

"Those were rare instances," Michael replied stiffly. "But it does support my point. This is intense technology, but it's not infallible to tampering."

"That I am well aware of. We will have multiple fail-safes in place just on the off chance someone does tamper with the AIs." Lanski laughed and wave his hand in a dismissive gesture at the younger man. "Please, Michael, I am no fool! I've calculated all those little factors and more and frankly, this project still looks very bright. The Board is very supportive of it. We need to iron out the finer details in our next meeting with the CSA."

So, it was a definite, yet. Relief momentarily filled Michael's gut. Maybe they could get out it. "So you're going to use Kitt's brain to make a new line of defensive-weapons," he said, assuming the role of offense instead of defense. He leaned closer to the table, meeting Lanski's gaze. "Don't you think you're overstepping your bounds a bit, Mr. Lanski?"

"How so, Michael?" asked Lanski, sounding honestly confused.

"Wilton never wanted a military program," snapped Michael, motioning angrily with his hand. "It beats everything he ever said about violence."

"My uncle was a hypocrite in that area," replied Lanski coolly. He glanced over at Kitt and then back at Michael. "He vouched for non-violence and yet sent a lone man with a very much dangerous weapon on the streets to physically catch criminals. That, my dear sir, is violence and not truly even legal at that!"

Michael hesitated, insulted as well as shocked. "Kitt and I save people's lives!" he said, pointing at Kitt. He leaned closer to the table, his voice lowering, but his glare never wavering. "I'm sorry if we don't just sit around eating cake and tea all day while the bad guys get away. We'd rather we out there saving lives and stopping criminals from getting away with the things the cops can't always stop!"

"A man with that sort of agenda is something the police consider a vigilante," replied Lanski calmly. His eyes grew darker, however, as they met Michael's glare with ease. "And that, my boy, is _not_ a legal enterprise."

_Now_, Michael felt threatened. He stared at Lanski, ready to throttle the man. "FLAG has a contract with the government," he began.

"Nothing that includes sending a legally-dead ex-police officer after possibly-innocent-until-proven-guilty citizens, I assure you," countered Lanski.

"Mr. Lanski," began Kitt suddenly. The two humans jumped and looked at him, surprised. He sounded calm. "As much as your observation makes sense in legal terms, Michael and I are well aware of Wilton Knight's wishes to avoid violence. We use the least amount of violence as possible while apprehending criminals and by moving as efficiently as we do, we avoid the causalities that may have resulted if we had not stepped in when we did."

Lanski stared at Kitt blankly, who sat in similar silence. Michael glanced between the two, internally wary.

"Kitt, I must ask you," began Lanski, staring the AI straightly. His eyes seemed pinned on Kitt's scanner. "How do you feel about the purpose you are currently serving for FLAG?"

Michael frowned and Kitt probably would have too if he had a face. "I'm sorry," said the AI, sounding perplexed. "I am afraid I don't understand. What do you mean, Mr. Lanski?"

"I mean, how you like being used as a weapon against crime," replied Lanski, chuckling. "It is in your programming to avoid harming human life and yet you are used in a manner that contradicts that."

If Kitt could shrug, Michael imagined him doing it now. "As I mentioned before, we attempt to limit our actions against the criminals we face," he said simply.

"Still. Your technology in the hands of a child could prove deadly. That's quite a risk," said Lanski, a friendly-like warning coloring his voice.

"Frankly, sir, I'm a car," replied Kitt without a hitch, though still polite. "All vehicles are deadly weapons in the hands of any person."

Michael smirked. "And a radio would not be a good choice as a partner for me in the long run," he said, remembering the one time his friend had lost his vehicle body.

Kitt sighed. "Right, Michael," he said.

Lanski stared at Kitt, continuing to ignore Michael entirely, with a thoughtful expression. Michael settled back in his seat, watching the scene unfold, but knowing it wasn't his place to interrupt now. Kitt could obviously handle this on the same eloquent level Lanski put out.

Lanski tapped on the table top with two fingers absently. "How do you like working with humans?" he asked after a moment.

"I find them quite pleasant," replied the AI. "Especially Michael." The said human beamed at his partner, happy and smug.

"So, you find no issues with your driver?" asked Lanski directly, almost business-like.

"Of course not," said Kitt. "Michael is an excellent partner and I enjoy the fact we are able to work together. I could not imagine myself working with anyone else. We are…partners."

Lanski nodded. "I see."

Michael, despite his previous feelings of dread, felt immensely happy. He had known Kitt would have defended his character before, but to hear it was nice. Kitt was the closest thing he had to a brother and a definite best friend. Kitt, as he could gauge over the years, felt the same. The two were a family when it was too dangerous for either to attempt to have one.

Lanski, after pouring himself another cup of tea, looked thoughtful as he stirred two sugar cubes into the dark liquid.

"How do you feel about your current purpose?" asked the chairman.

"My purpose?" repeated Kitt, unsure. Michael turned and gave the other man a similar look of uncertainty.

"To serve FLAG, assist Michael to catch criminals…you know," he said lightly, taking another sip from his tea.

"I enjoy very much helping FLAG and Michael," replied Kitt calmly. "To so was my original purpose, and even now, I am content continuing to do so."

Lanski paused minutely. "That's…very good, Kitt," he said. He sounded stiff.

Michael eyed him before looking back over at Kitt, seemingly at ease. This conversation was strange, considering he wasn't even really included in it, but he wasn't complaining. Whatever Lanski had been planning to do with this conversation, whether to butter them both up to agreeing with him, wasn't working. Kitt sat in his spot, inanimate to unknowing eyes, but Michael could see from the scanner on the front of his grill that the AI was intend well aware of the situation and the conversation. Yeah, he had this in the bag.

"Kitt, how do you feel about my idea?" Lanski asked abruptly. "To create defensive military drones?"

Kitt hesitated, taken by surprise as much as Michael was by the question. "I…am uncomfortable with the idea that the technology inside me could be used in a potentially dangerous manner," he replied carefully. "However, as you said, if fail safes are put in place and constant monitoring of these devices are held, I don't think the idea is too obscene."

Michael stared at his partner in surprise. He had thought the AI was opposed to the idea completely. Then again, Kitt followed logic. Logic did dictate that this could work…Michael frowned. He would have rather not risked it, though.

"Very good, Kitt," replied Lanski, beaming at the car. He turned and gave Michael the same cheerful look. "See, Michael? Even Kitt agrees with me."

"I severely hope that you keep to your word, Mr. Lanski," added Kitt, his scanner moving slower than before. "Michael is very right about the threats that would follow your plans."

Lanski turned and gave the AI a small smile. "I'm true to my word, Kitt. We won't be heading into this blind."

That was supposed to be reassuring, but Michael felt nothing but apprehension as he looked at Lanski, who was pleasantly ignoring him. After nearly ten years of working with the world's most dangerous criminals, Michael had picked up the talent of reading people extraordinarily well. Lanski…he seemed fake. But there was no way to bring it up or prove it. Lanski had constructed a well thought image of himself that demanded trust. Michael and Kitt, however, weren't buying it.

"Well, I must say, it's been a lot of fun meeting with you gentlemen, but I have much to get to back in the office," announced Lanski suddenly. He smiled up at Michael. "I thank you both again for stopping up here. I hope to run into you two again at some point."

Something was off. "Wait, so, when do you want to have this inspection?" Michael asked, forcing himself not to sound as edgy as he was feeling. Kitt sat silently, also anticipating an answer.

Lanski took a final sip of his tea, pausing. He lowered the cup and smiled at the other man, quite amused. "Why, that was it, Mr. Knight," he said.

Micahel froze. He looked at Kitt, who was as still and silent as any regular car, and then back at Lanski. He could not hide the wary and suspicious expression on his face. "What?" he demanded.

"We're finished with the inspection," Lanski replied calmly.

"That was it?" Michael asked. He sat up, angry. "You call us down for some tea and sandwiches and call that an inspection? What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing any type of game, Mr. Knight," Lanski sighed. He placed his porcelain cup on its saucer and smiled wanly at Michael. "You've answered all my questions and that's all I needed. After all, I wanted to inspect Kitt's mind."

"His CPU," Michael said, blunt.

"All the same," Lanski replied cheerfully. "In any case, one does not need to dismantle a brain in order to figure out how someone thinks. Talking works just fine, don't you think?"

Michael stared at the richly dressed man, at his white suit, black shiny shoes and red paisley tie, thoroughly disgusted. He didn't even bother to hide it in his expression. A tense minute passed and Michael felt his blood boil as he gazed hard at the blatantly cheerful man.

Then, abruptly, Michael stood up, pushing his chair back, which screeched in protest on the cement floor, while Michael himself said nothing. He marched to Kitt's side, where the door was already open. He got in and before the door was even shut, they backed up onto the grass, turned around sharply and picked up speed as they shot down the path towards the parking lot.

**00000**

_Orca, Michigan_

The car was beginning to look like a car. That was a noteworthy achievement, Karr acknowledged, considering it had only been a stripped block of metal on wheels only a week earlier.

Micky was a quick but meticulous worker. Within the first two weeks, after getting the most important parts from Karr's original wreckage, he and Bridget had started to strip the new body completely of not working or unnecessary pieces. They had kept Karr's original engine, which surprisingly still worked, because it was more suited to handle the AI's needs.

Now came the interesting challenge of putting his old body together with the new one.

Bridget's sole function there was to do what Micky told her to do and to keep Karr in high spirits (or to attempt to do so, anyway.) She had limited knowledge of mechanics, and as much as that drove Karr crazy over her worthlessness there, he was content with the knowledge that she wasn't the one putting him together.

It was the end of May now and Bridget and Micky were almost finished with school. That was a good thing. That meant that they wouldn't waste eight hours every day elsewhere when they could be in that garage. Every morning, Bridget walked all the way up to Micky's house, just to check in on Karr. She had to hitch a ride with Micky into school with his parents, but she claimed it was worth it.

It wasn't as though Karr minded being alone in the garage for the majority of the day. It wasn't too unlike Bridget's room. After seven years of the same four walls, the change was welcome. Even then, Karr felt more at ease when one of the two children were there. Micky's father had already cast a wary eye the AI's way earlier in the week, so it was mildly reassuring to have the two humans Karr did theoretically trust watching his back.

Not that he'd ever tell them that, of course.

Micky worked, as usual, without pay or thanks. Even after Bridget went home, some nights the boy would spend an extra hour or two peering over the blueprints. He too had gotten into the habit of bidding the AI goodnight. He wasn't as insistent as Bridget, so Karr didn't mind it. It reminded him of his days trapped in Bridget's room, so when the garage lights were turned off, Karr simply went into stasis and ignored the boy.

It was just a few days before Bridget and Micky's junior year ended—a Saturday. The two were over bright and early, getting to work. Bridget was handling the cosmetics, which was the only thing she was suited to do, according to Karr. She was re-upholstering the new seats with faux-leather. She had already washed down the new vehicle body and windows. She had borrowed the Lealand's portable vacuum and swept up all the dirt and debris inside until Karr was satisfied. He was more focused on what Micky was doing with his engine and carburetor, but was still a little interested in how his appearance would hold up.

"I can't wait 'til I get out of school," sang Bridget as she worked in front of the car and Karr. "And get to drive my awesome new car!"

"I'm not yours," grumbled Karr. No matter how many times he said it, she ignored him. He had a feeling she was just being silly, but it was still irksome.

The kids worked the rest of the day, as usual, without much conversation in between. Bridget transformed the seats into rather clean and elegant looking things. Micky was almost done hooking the engine up with the new car, though nothing would be functional for a long time. There were many little things that had to be included. Karr gave his input when necessary, but felt overly tired that day. It was difficult to stay focused as well as add the conversations, if any arrose. Bridget seemed to pick up on that easily and kept quiet; Karr enjoyed every moment of _that_.

At seven, the kids called it quits. Bridget's mother would be just arriving home to cook dinner and Bridget had pushed her luck enough with her disappearing acts not to miss greeting her mother. Micky had his own family to handle and Karr would be left alone in the dark. He didn't mind it in the least; he needed all the rest he could get lately.

As Micky covered the new car and the remains of the old one up with the blue tarp, Bridget was gathering her things. She stood in front of Karr as she did so, humming quietly. Karr didn't pay her much attention. She would generally just walk off and leave through the garage doors. Micky would turn off the lights and enter the house through the door on the side wall.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Bridget said, adjusting her jacket.

Karr said nothing, as usual. It was how they communicated. Karr did not have to say anything back to that comment. Bridget was used to it as well. She bore the brunt of verbal communications between the two of them. He didn't need to do anything except lis—

Something touched the table he was resting on. Karr's sensors flared to life, having just been turned down in anticipation for stasis. Instead of some stranger, Karr was surprised to see his owner standing over him. Hadn't she just said goodbye? What did she want now? Before Karr could ask her or snap at her for lingering, Bridget leaned forward and did something that caused his processor to skip.

She kissed the top of his CPU.

She pulled away slowly and smiled. Karr's responses were frozen with shock.

"Goodnight, Karr," Bridget said softly. She smiled.

Karr only stared back. He was not sure about the various emotions humans could experience, but he was quite certain he was feeling one of them: absolute horror.

Taking no note of his silence, Bridget picked up her purse and with her back to the worktable, she walked out of the garage. She pulled down the heavy door and that was the last of Bridget that Karr saw for the night.

He stared at door without really thinking anything.

_What_, he began mentally, feeling cold all over his circuits, _was _that_?_

He knew what it literally was; it was a kiss, a symbol of physical affection displayed between friends, family and mates. He had seen Bridget kiss her mother and brother before, often before going to bed, or if they were going on a trip of some sort.

But he wasn't her mother, or her brother.

He was Karr.

He was…nothing.

_That idiot! _he hissed internally, anger filling his processor instantaneously. Bridget was obviously doing that on purpose, to short out his processor. It wasn't the first time. She once made him a stocking for that ridiculous human holiday, Christmas, and laughed about it when Karr yelled at her. She had decorated him for Halloween twice, earning similar reactions. She would laugh at his expense. It was all just a joke to her.

And it did frazzle his processor. He sat on the table, unable to express his frustration or drive after the brat to run her over. That would show her, after making a fool out of him. No one made a fool out of him—not Karr!

Then, to the right, he heard another noise: footsteps. Then he noticed human breathing. His sensors re-focused on the new entity and he realized Micky was standing by the door that led into the house. Karr was beginning to get angry. What was with these kids? Didn't they ever leave when they said they would?

Micky made no effort to see if Karr was noticing him. He stared at the AI, thoughtfully. For a moment, Karr wondered if the boy was simply in one of his "modes" where he was completely detached from reality and thrown into his own realm of thinking. That might be a good thing; perhaps he was figuring out some last minute problem.

Then, Micky smiled. Karr's hope of the boy working on his problems plummeted. Oh, how he hated humans…!

"You should have thanked her, Karr," said Micky suddenly, his voice echoing across the garage, surprisingly Karr a little. He sounded bemused.

Keeping his vocalizer shut, Karr pretended to be in stasis.

"She's going to miss you, you know," the boy said.

Karr said nothing.

Micky smiled and turned off the light. "Just thought you should know," he said calmly. "Well, goodnight." He shut the door and the room was filled with inky black night and troubled thoughts.

Emotion. So alien, but so common now. Ever since meeting Bridget, Karr had begun to feel things he never felt before and he didn't like it. It was too unlike his old self, too much like…like a human. He wasn't human. He wasn't even humane.

Hate was something he was comfortable with. He had first felt it after meeting his twin, that aggravating Knight Industries Two Thousand. He hated the other AI and all those who tried to attack Karr. They had caused everything, including his domestic prison with Bridget. He hated them. Oh, how he _hated_ them. Hate felt right. It felt natural. It was the only emotion he could tolerate, so as he sat there trying to compute what had happened, it felt right to hate. Hate her, Bridget.

_I hate her_, he seethed to no one. If he had limbs, he would have been beating everything in sight. _I hate her, I hate her, I hate her!_

He didn't even know if it were true. She didn't do anything wrong, did she?

_She's an annoyance!_ Karr snapped bitterly to himself. _A weakling, a hindrance, a human!_

But did that deserve hate?

_Yes!_

His processor churned wildly as he tried to reason with himself. It didn't logically make sense to hate her. But he did. He felt a sensation that felt like hate. It had to be hate. He hated her.

_Do I?_

Emotion did not compute with any of his core programming. He was a computer. Computers did not feel. That was logic he could get a grasp of. KITT never felt, KARR never felt. Whatever he "felt" was not real. A ghost in his programming. Perhaps a virus or a technical glitch. He felt nothing.

But what was that burning at the back of his processor, that constantly re-routed his focuses back to it every time Bridget did something stupid or get herself into pathetic situations? He was not programmed like his brother, who had the program that insisted the protection of human life. Karr had nothing like that. So what was it?

Hate?

Or something else?

"I don't know," he said quietly out loud. To speak even though no one was there was calming. To hear his own voice made his processor slow slightly.

He didn't know.

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**Notes  
**1. Isn't Lanski such a creep? :D He'll get worse, I swear. Ironically, he raised a good point, I just realized. Um. Does FLAG have special connections to the FBI or something? Because if not, Michael is totally a vigilante. XD Whoops.  
2. CSA stands for "Chief of Staff of the United States Army" - an administrative position and has no operational command authority over United States army forces. Wikipedia it for more information.  
kissing Karr is NOT supposed to signify anything romantic. XD Dear God, no. Bridget just cares a lot about him. It's no different than her kissing a sibling or a close relative. As for poor Karr, he has no idea what to make of that. LOL.


	9. 08 Signature

The hiatus is over! Hallelujah!

Sorry for the lack of updates, seriously! I've been busy with my other works and real life nonsense…I have no idea where the time goes! And for any pre-college kids, listen to your elders: college really is _insanely_ hectic. Sorry again guys!

Finally, the kids finally finish the project…but will everything worked out as planned?

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**Warnings** and **Disclaimers**

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_Orca, Michigan  
Three Weeks Later_

"We're done."

Karr stared at Micky's angular face for a moment before asking, "What?"

"We're done," the teenager replied.

Three million, twenty five thousand, six hundred and thirty one seconds. Fifty thousand, four hundred and twenty seven minutes. Eight hundred and forty one hours. Thirty-five days.

And they were finally done.

He had counted every waking moment he had spent in that cold and dark garage. Days had passed from dreary days of May and well into June. But it was done. All that work, all that putting up with nonsensical humans, all that waiting—it had paid off.

Bridget stood by the desk where his CPU lay, fidgeting, but smiling. "So…we can do it now?" she asked, looking only at Micky.

"All the systems are theoretically ready to run," her friend replied, his voice betraying no emotion, completely professional. "All we need to do now is make the decision." And by "we" he meant him, Karr.

Turning slowly, Bridget stared down at Karr, her expression unreadable. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice quieter.

"Do it," Karr commanded, his processors spinning wildly. He was almost there. He couldn't wait any longer.

Everything seemed wildly out of control as they started to get things moving. The car was parked properly, resting motionless in the center of the garage, lifeless. Micky set up his workstation beside the passenger side door and the front of the car, like a doctor preparing for surgery. Karr watched both humans move these things around carefully. He was so close…!

"We could wait if you're not sure yet," Bridget started to say as she and Micky lifted Karr's CPU over to the workbench closest to the Mustang.

"No," Karr snapped. He could almost feel his mobile sensors activating. He was so close—so close to freedom. It was right there, sitting, waiting for him. "I want to do it now."

Bridget said nothing, but Karr barely noticed her grim face; he was focused on the new car now. His body. His freedom! It was lying right in front of them. This was it. This was finally it!

Micky probably had no idea what he was doing, but he moved meticulously and his face betrayed no hesitation if he was feeling it. He quietly directed Bridget to grabbing wires and pliers as he worked on the dashboard. Karr's CPU would be loaded in there, and the connections would be made between it and the car's internal computers they had salvaged. Karr watched silently; if he had a body, he would be trembling.

"Now…" Micky began heavily, looking over at Karr's waiting form. "I can't promise this won't mess up, or hurt, or not work at all. I wish I could, Karr, but…"

"I understand," Karr said coolly. His calculations showed that due to the miraculous condition of some of his hardware, the transition had a seventy percent success rate. He was not one to weigh chances, but he needed his body back. This was the only way. "Your current progress shows an optimal chance of success. Continue."

Micky gave the AI a blank stare before turning back to the dashboard. Karr watched him and mulled over each little thing the boy did; he would make sure Micky succeeded in this. Karr would not take his survival lightly—

A tapping sound diverted Karr's attentions. To the side, Bridget was also watching Micky, but she was radiating nervousness and was drumming her fingers on the roof of the car. Karr glowered darkly.

"Stop drumming your hand," he snapped, irritable. His processors were frazzled as it was; he didn't need her to make it worse!

The action stopped immediately. "Sorry." Bridget grinned nervously. "I'm a little anxious."

"Then leave," Karr replied coldly. He didn't need her pointing out the obvious, or highlighting her own distress, because…he didn't need to be reminded of his own.

"I ain't going to leave my buddy right before surgery!" Bridget exclaimed, mockingly offended. She laughed, the nervousness making it shake. "I'm staying here for emotional support."

Karr wanted to growl and deny the need for any "emotional" support. He was not emotional. He was a _machine_.

But sitting there...an alien sensation was wreaking havoc inside his CPU, as Micky and Bridget lifted him up and put him into position on the dash, wires sticking out, ready for him. The sensation wasn't natural, or it wasn't natural for a machine to feel.

_I do not feel!_

But he was frightened. Karr would not and could not admit it. Even so, he felt Bridget staring at him from the driver's side doorway. Looking up at her, he saw in her eyes a deep understanding. Somehow, she knew how he felt. She always did.

"It's going to be okay," she whispered, staring directly into his CPU, unknowingly right into his line of focus.

She gently patted the Mustang's steering wheel. Karr could not feel anything in the car yet, but he felt the gesture within his CPU. Her words and actions reminded him of a lot of things, like their first meeting in that lonely stretch of desert. He had hated her so much in those first few years. Now he trusted her with his life.

_Why?_

He did not understand and the child probably did not have any answers either. They were both connected by circumstance, and in that regard, completely alone when it came to solving those nagging doubts and questions. They might never find out the whys and hows. Nevertheless, both of them persevered. They had made it through seven years and now it had all climaxed at this moment, this moment that would decide his fate and her ability to care for him as she had for so long. Even now, she was extending a hand of care his way. Karr felt the grip he had over that hand loosened slightly and he anxiously clung tighter; even so close to freedom, he was nervous to let go.

"Are we ready?" Micky asked, torso-deep into the front of the car now, his hands poised over the precious wires that would connect Karr to the Mustang and thus give him freedom, or death.

Bridget's hands trembled, either out of excitement or nervousness, or perhaps both. She looked over at the dashboard. She gave a small smile and in it, Karr saw the encouragement that he had come to expect from the adolescent human.

Somewhere inside his processor, Karr realized how much the child had given. He had to respect her for that. He saw her sacrifices and effort finally. He would not degrade himself to ever thank her verbally or call her his friend—but he could give her at least one thing in return.

Trust.

"Do it," he repeated. He spoke softly; he didn't dare risk revealing to them or himself just how he felt.

He felt—a physical feeling?—something spark just slightly. Almost all at once, he felt an alien system slam into his CPU's protected interior. Instinct made him fight the unfamiliar technology—before he realized it was not an alien computer.

It was his own.

Alive, after seven long, terribly long, years—his CPU soared as system queues turned on, sorting through thousands of new processes all at once. He had access to his old files, his old power sources, his old functions—he was both falling and flying into the depth of his old identity in just seconds.

He was KARR—Wilton Knight's Automated Roving Robot—the prototype of the car of the future—the most magnificent piece of human ingenuity ever created.

He was Karr—he was _himself_—superior—powerful—_himself_.

"Karr?" he heard one of the humans—_Bridget Smith, Bridget Smith_—ask, warily. "C-can you hear me?"

"Systems operational," Karr responded automatically, his voice louder, stronger. He could feel everything, from the seat cushions to the wheel wells, to the cement floor of the garage under his carriage.

He was _back_.

For a moment of time, Karr felt sweet, sweet triumph flood his system like an incapacitating but welcomed virus.

A loud crack shattered the fragile air like a brick through ice. Bridget screamed. Micky yelled something. Somewhere deep inside him, Karr felt a burning sensation that erupted into unimaginable pain that consumed his processor, blocking out everything else.

He remembered pain and then fell into darkness.

**00000**

_Knight Estate, California  
_

"I'm telling you Bonnie, the guy is a complete creep. We can't trust him. He was tossing around all this garbage about us working outside the law. He's going to start something, I just know it."

Immersed in her work at her office computer, Bonnie didn't glance up at Michael, who was pacing behind her. "He's a creep, I know," she replied absently. "But he hasn't done anything yet. Don't jump the gun, Mike."

"I'm not jumping any gun," Michael said adamantly. He stopped pacing and gave her a half-hearted glare. "You should have seen it, Bon. He used conversation as his evaluation of Kitt. Off the top of his head!"

"Well, considering I'm still intact and not being re-examined for malfunctions, I suppose I passed," offered Kitt, who was parked immediately outside the office door. He sounded calm.

Michael rolled his eyes. "He's still a threat," he said, emphasizing the last word.

"I'll tell Devon," replied Bonnie. She waved her hand toward him. "Michael, please. I'm trying to get caught up on these schematics. I wanted to replace Kitt's induction coil with a newer model sometime this week."

"Induction?" Michael repeated, making a rude noise. He stepped closer, angry. "Bonnie, who cares about a stupid induction coil—?"

He stopped short, his skin tingling with sudden nervousness. Michael knew something was wrong even before he heard Kitt make a sound that resembled a short intake of breath. He didn't know how, but he knew. Turning away from Bonnie, Michael looked at his partner through the door.

"You okay, buddy?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. Inwardly, he knew something was up.

"I just detected a unique electronic signal," Kitt replied. He sounded surprisingly wary and this got Michael's attention as well as Bonnie's.

"A wireless server?" Bonnie asked, looking up from the computer.

"No. This is a private transmission," Kitt said. He hesitated and in an almost questioning tone, he said, "A very, very private one. As if…"

"As if what?" Michael asked, turning around completely. He was not liking Kitt's tone. "What's the matter, partner?"

"Michael, I'm getting an echo again."

Bonnie stopped and looked at him, alarmed. "An echo? What do you mean, _again_?"

"Aw, crap," Michael said grimly, ignoring her comment. "Explain it in English this time, okay?"

Kitt began in a wavering voice that did not befit his form. "I received that earlier backwash from the untraceable source last month, but this time, it is different. The transmission I am receiving now is a direct match to my own."

"That's impossible!" exclaimed Bonnie, standing and walking over to Kitt. "Are you sure that you're not just receiving the backwash of your own signal?"

"No," replied Kitt. He stopped, as if unready to share the next piece of information. "This is an incoming transmission originating from approximately two thousand, one hundred and fourteen miles from here."

Bonnie and Michael both stared, struck momentarily speechless.

"Two thousand miles?" repeated Michael, shocked.

"Your range doesn't go that far!" exclaimed Bonnie. The car backed up to allow the humans to leave the room. Bonnie leaned over his rolled down window and stared at Kitt's voice modulator. "Are you sure, Kitt?"

Kitt seemed to struggle with the concept just as much as his human companions were. "I am ninety-eight percent certain. The range in miles could vary. The signal is too weak to detect an actual location of origin."

"But how can you be picking up the signal?"

He stopped. "I don't know." He made a frustrated sound. "It is almost as if there is a specific channel that this transmission is reaching me in. At the same time, the signature of the call is remarkably based off of my own."

"There's another AI?" asked Michael. The idea had seemed ludicrous before in the hanger, but this was different.

"No, that is highly improbable," replied Kitt. He stopped again, hesitant. "This has only happened once before," Kitt said quietly. He paused, and then in a tone of urgency, added, "Michael."

Michael, who had been sitting in a shocked state of stillness, froze. He and Kitt had been working together for a long time—long enough that he knew what his partner meant with just a few words.

"Call Devon, Bonnie."

"Already doing it," Bonnie replied as she rushed back into the office, picked up the phone, and began to punch in numbers.

.

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Ahh, and what happened to Karr? Wait a few more days, and you'll receive chapter nine (which is already written!) and find out! See you soon.

Review, as always, _s'il vous plaît_.


	10. 09 Success

This (short) chapter is bittersweet. Karr doesn't realize how much he means to the kids until now. Also, in case you didn't know by now, I'm still totally BSing my way through all the technical stuff. Just so you know.

**KEY**: _Italicized_ words are thoughts. _Groups of paragraphs_ are flashbacks. **_Bold and italicized_** words are Karr's processors.

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**Warnings** & **Disclaimers**

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**_Self-systems analysis check…running…all available processors functional…_**

The first thing he noticed was the noise. There were footsteps, shuffling, sniffles, and heavy breathing, as if someone had just come in from a long run. They were all human sounds. Other than the two children, he had no contact with any other human. Inwardly, he made a short prayer that whoever he was hearing was one of the children—he did not feel like putting up with strangers or Bridget's snooping mother.

Then he noticed that he wasn't on the shelf. Or in Bridget's room, for that matter.

Alarm kicked in.

All sensors went up and Karr was greeted by dim lighting and a familiar greasy environment.

_Micky's garage_, he reminded himself.

He remembered now. They were fixing the Ford Mustang and connecting him to it. The last thing he remembered was Micky finishing with the wires and then pain. Something had gone wrong. Nothing seemed out of place, but Karr couldn't be sure. He was about to run secondary scans on his new form when something distracted him.

A small gasp alerted him to the presence inside his new vehicle form. Bridget sat in the driver's seat, clinging piteously to the steering wheel. Something was off. Karr then realized that Bridget had noticed his dashboard lights were on. She looked up and Karr could see with his new optical sensors her tear-streaked face. She burst into new tears. It disturbed him greatly.

"What are you bawling about now?" he demanded. "Stop it."

Inwardly, he was panicking. Bridget never cried, or at least rarely did. She cried once when her father left and once more when her pet dog, Buster, died two years ago. Karr had been there to witness both events and found out that he was powerless in getting the child to stop crying once she got started. The noise and the mess was annoying, but the sight of the distraught child who was usually so collected and sharp-witted made his processor spin wildly. It was even more terrifying to know he couldn't stop it. For some reason, that fact alone shook him.

"Stop it," repeated Karr. "Bridget, stop crying. Bridget!"

Bridget let out a horrible sob and flung herself at the steering wheel again, much to Karr's horror. She cried openly and loudly.

"I thought we killed you!" she screamed hysterically. "I thought you died! You weren't answering me!_ I thought you were dead_!"

_Thought I was dead…?_ repeated Karr to himself. He stared at the child, unsure of how to reply. _She's this upset because she thought I was _dead_?_

"I was so scared!" Bridget wailed piteously. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Karr could not believe what he was hearing. The child was near hysterical because of the blown circuit? That's all it had been, he was sure. A spark jumped the wire and caused his systems to temporarily offline. That was all. Everything was fine now. Bridget knew the risks involved beforehand; why was she reacting so badly now?

"Karr?" croaked a new voice. Karr turned his attention to outside the vehicle. Micky was bracing himself against the worktable and looked just as shaken as Bridget did. It was equally disturbing. What was with these children?

"Yes?" asked Karr neutrally.

"Run a self-diagnostic, please. Is everything functioning correctly?"

He had run a self-diagnostic before he fully came out of stasis. Everything was fine, albeit shaky. Karr continued his indifferent tone.

"Yes. Etymotic equalizer, olfactory sensor, microscanners, voice synthesizer, alpha circuit, basic sensors and comlink, microwave jammer are all functioning at normal capacity. Unable to locate anamorphic equalizer, medical scanner and ejection seat system, but are unnecessary functions. Power sufficient for the moment."

"Thank God," whispered Micky, looking completely drained.

"Thank God!" echoed Bridget, her voice thick. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened and she started sobbing again.

Karr felt utterly helpless as he stared at his hostess. He had absolutely no idea what to do. He hated it when she cried. He hated it! Beyond anything else, it was the most wasted and unneeded human reaction. It positively—as Bridget would say—_freaked_ him out.

"Bridget," he began evenly. He would not let her know it was getting to him. That would only make her worse. "I am functional. There is no damage to any of my systems. You are wasting energy for nothing."

Bridget sniffed deeply and shuddered. "I thought I lost you," she whispered into the leather.

At that, Karr scoffed darkly. "No, you stick to me too much like glue for that to happen. Even if I had been part of a flying apparatus, I'm sure you would have found a way to cling to me like a parasite." Being mean sometimes worked in these situations.

"I'm sorry," said Bridget. Her breathing had calmed down thankfully and she had stopped crying. She wiped her face with her jacket sleeve. "I'm really, really sorry. We shouldn't have tried this. It was stupid."

"Bridget."

"Yeah?"

"I'm in the car."

Bridget stared at the dashboard beyond the wheel, surprised.

"We have succeeded," said Karr simply.

He said that in his usual monotonousness tone, but it had a profound affect on the morose teenagers. Bridget's eyes widened slightly and she looked more surprised than upset. Micky moved closer to the car, wary.

"We did?" he asked.

Karr turned on his headlights, causing Micky to jump. His engine had already been running, so he pressed on the pedal slightly, earning a low purr. Bridget stared in amazement.

"Y-you're doing that?" she asked, almost speechless.

The multiple lights on the dashboard and under his CPU box lit up. He turned on his visual voice modulator.

"What do you think?" he asked sarcastically. He secretly enjoyed the dumbfounded expression on Bridget's face as she observed the flashing lights on the modulator.

"Oh my god," she whispered. A smiled wormed itself onto her face. She looked amazed. "Oh my god!"

Micky let out an uncharacteristic shout of joy and jumped up. "We did it! We did it!" he cried.

"_YES_!" Bridget exclaimed. She slammed into the steering wheel again, much to Karr's displeasure, but she was laughing as she hugged it. "We did it, Karr!"

"Can you move?" asked Micky, eyes alight with excitement and anticipation.

After shutting the driver's side door on his own (much to Bridget's surprise), Karr adjusted his gears and backed up a little. The sensation was alien, but it was comforting to be in a shell again. He didn't mind showing off a little—especially if it earned such humorous reactions from the humans.

"Oh, wow," whispered Micky, watching the AI move backward farther with a dreamy expression. "Wow."

Bridget giggled excitedly and patted her hands on the seat. "Turn on your windshield wipers!" He complied. "Eee! That's so cool! Do you have air conditioning?" A blast of cold air in her face made her shriek with glee. "_Oh my God_!"

Micky rushed around behind them and opened the garage door all the way. Karr slid out effortlessly onto the wide driveway. He was beginning to enjoy this feeling that had been robbed of him so long ago. He heard Bridget squealing again and, without putting much logical thought into at all, he spun around quickly. He made a quick circle, trying to get back his bearings in a vehicle. The old programming was all coming back to him with ease. The new car kept up just fine.

Bridget had been shocked at the sudden movement, but soon dissolved into elated hysterics. "Oh my—Karr!" she exclaimed as they came to a jerking stop at the end of the circle. She was laughing. "Do that again! Do it again!"

He did so, silently enjoying the fact that he had gotten her out of her depressed state so quickly. He didn't know why he was complying with her demands, other than he hated the tears. That had to be it.

"Whoo!" exclaimed Bridget, as they came to a stop again. She was laughing hard and could barely keep herself upright. "Karr, you're amazing! Absolutely, undeniably amaz—!"

Her compliment was muted out by a loud, somewhat heart-stopping bang that seemed like it originated from underneath Karr's hood. Karr hissed audibly, feeling the pain register to his processor. The pain was small, nothing like when the circuit malfunctioned. However, something was obviously wrong.

"Karr?!" cried Bridget, wide eyed. She looked as though she thought he was about to disintegrate right in front of her.

Micky had run from his spot by the garage door and nearly slammed into Karr's front. "What happened?!" he demanded, also fearful. The small trail of smoke originating from under the hood did not help in the least bit.

"The engine overheated," said Karr flatly. "It cannot function under its current condition. A replacement must be made for all of my systems to function in correlation with one another."

"Just the engine?" wheezed Bridget. She gripped her chest, trembling all over. "Oh…oh."

Karr winced. "Yes, it's just the engine. Calm down before you cause yourself to cease functioning."

Micky's shoulders slumped and he leaned against the hood. "My heart cannot take this stress," he said miserably. He opened the hood and waved away the smoke that was slowly depleting on its own. "Oh, yeah, the carburetor's fried. I'm going to have to replace the whole engine."

"I guess four years in sand can mess it up after all," said Bridget quietly, trying to regain her witty front. She sighed heavily. "I can just hear mom now: 'where did all of your college funds go?' 'Oh, I spent it on my sentient car, mom.'"

"Your opinion is not needed," snapped Karr.

"Well, guess what?" she challenged back.

"Listen," Micky said to interrupt their fight. He lowered Karr's hood and tapped it slightly. "You can't be rolling around with this thing."

Karr resisted the urge to sound sarcastic. "Understood."

"Would you mind sticking around the garage for a few more days until we can find a replacement?"

They were giving him the option? Karr fell silent as he thought furiously. Of course he could roll away free now and hijack some other mechanic to do the repairs. There was nothing tying him down and no shelf to keep him on. He was free. Free. Finally.

Then, he remembered Problem Number One: Bridget.

He looked intently at Bridget, knowing she could not tell. He had already memorized every line on her face, every specific detail over the course of seven years. She was an enigma in personality only; he could easily read her face. She was looking at his voice modulator, waiting. Karr knew she was anxious from her heightened body functions.

"I suppose I have no choice," he said finally. He kept his feelings under his cold mask of indifference.

Bridget did not seem to mind his tone. She never did. Instead, she smiled brightly and said, "Okay, let's roll you in."

"No!" snapped Karr angrily. Already, Bridget had slid out of her seat and walked behind him with Micky. "I am sick of you treating me like I'm some sort of pet animal!"

"I would so not _roll_ my dog anywhere," Bridget corrected him simply as she and Micky heaved their combined weight onto Karr's back and began to push him. "Besides, you're still mine for the next few days until you get an engine, so put up with it."

"I am _not_ yours!"

"Wanna bet? Who owns your body, huh?"

"The shell is the shell, but I am me and you do not own me!"

"I could Sharpie my name onto your CPU."

"Do it and I'll run you over."

"And where the hell are you going to get your brand spankin' new engine from if I'm dead?"

Micky rolled his eyes, smiling as he reveled in the sound of the normal interactions between the group, and continued to push.

.

* * *

Aww, they're one big happy family again. Sort of.

1. "Before you cause yourself to cease functioning…" Karr didn't just say that for sarcastic effect. :]  
2. I have no idea where Michael and the actual canon characters went. They'll be back in the next chapter, though. Haha.

Review, my darlings!


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